


Stormcaller

by The_Jade_Samurai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghost is FUCKING HUGE, Jon Snow is the God of Thunder, Meddling Gods, More characters to be added, Not to be taken seriously, he's got MJOLNIR, or in other words he's basically Thor, superheroes in Westeros, the Starks are BAMFs, will he get Stormbreaker as well?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-05-18 07:59:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19330375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jade_Samurai/pseuds/The_Jade_Samurai
Summary: When the gods see what happens to a future where humanity is left to fend for themselves, they decide to play a more active role in helping prevent the Long Night from coming. But first they must choose people worthy to wield their mighty powers to lead the world into the coming of the Dawn.Starting with Jon Snow.(Or basically a few of the main characters get some wicked awesome powers and weapons which give them the powers of gods and they use them to fuck shit up).





	1. The God of Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> 'Ello lovelies. Long time no see.  
> This story is entirely based on a youtube video I saw where a game of thrones trailer was made in Avengers: Infinity War style and I thought, "why the hell not?"
> 
> This story is in no way meant to be taken super seriously, it's just for fun.

**The Old Gods were the only true gods, yet were worshipped in different ways by different cultures. To the First Men and their descendants, they had neither shape no form, existing only in the very nature around them with their only eyes in the carved faces of the weirwood trees. The Andals believed them to be seven aspects of a single deity, and the Ironborn followed the Drowned God. But in truth the Old Gods were numerous, existing on another plane of existence, called the Realm Eternal. Each god was master of something, though rarely toyed or interacted with their powers unless provoked.**

**There were only a few times when the Old Gods actually interfered with the lives of the mortal world. The first time was when they created the entire known world and filled them with life and diversity. The first sentient beings they created were the Children of the Forest and the giants, who knew who they worshipped until the First Men came from Essos and almost wiped them out. It took the intervention of the Goddess of Spring to end the war, and under her supervision was the pact formed that began the Age of Heroes.**

**The second major event was the Long Night. After millennia of peace, the First Men accidentally insulted the God of Death, or the Great Other as it was known to by worshippers of the Lord of Light. In retaliation it birthed its children, the Others, who laid waste to Westeros with their undead armies and pale ice spiders, ushering in a winter so long entire generations lived and died without ever seeing the sun. It took the God of Fire, offering his flaming sword to the Last Hero to drive the Others back to the Lands of Always Winter, and the God of Death was banished for all eternity from the Realm Eternal, but not without swearing vengeance upon all the Living, both mortal and divine.**

**And the most recent of the gods' memory, the Doom of Valyria. The Old Gods had originally blessed the Valyrians with their mastery of magic and control over the mighty dragons as a reward for their faith and humility in them, but centuries of sacrilegious acts such as incest and slavery offended the gods, and the Gods of Fire, Thunder and Sea swept almost all living memory of the Valyrians through fire, tidal waves and storms. The only family to escape were the Targaryens, who fled to Dragonstone years prior.**

**Since then the Old Gods have been silent, though recently, the Great Other has returned, amassing her forces beyond the Wall yet again to seek her vengeance. The greatest of the Old Gods, Creation himself, looked into the future and saw that if they sat and watched like they did last time, Death would succeed and kill everything, all because of their negligence and the infighting of the mortals who dealt in the land at the time. And so, the Old Gods have decided to interfere again, this time offering the mortals a fighting chance.**

**Starting with the God of Thunder, Creation's firstborn**.

* * *

 

 

Jon looked at the entourage of soldiers, knights and carriages pulling into the Winterfell courtyard sceptically. In his eyes, the timing of the king's arrival was almost too perfect to be considered a coincidence. Not a few months prior, a large hammer fell from the sky into the very centre of Winter Town, sticking out from a rocky outcrop right in the middle of the town square. It had proven to be immovable, even the strongest horses couldn't so much as budge it. Many believed that it was a gift, or a god's mighty weapon that he lost. The story became more and more bizarre, but it quickly spread across the whole continent. Since then, men and knights from all across the Seven Kingdoms had come to attempt to lift the hammer, believing themselves worthy of it, yet so far, none had succeeded.

Jon doubted that the king could lift the hammer, if his fat body and drunken demeanour were anything to go by. Father had a better chance than anybody, but even he hadn't been able budge the damned thing. If Ned Stark couldn't move the hammer, who could? Jon had never tried, having been strictly forbidden by Lady Stark.

The entire Winterfell household had followed the king to the town square, hoping that the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms was strong enough to lift the hammer, but when neither Robert, his sons or his Kingsguard failed, an air of disappointment blanketed them, which Jon felt throughout the feast, and into the night, where now he was mercilessly battering a wooden dummy with a blunted sword. He was slightly drunk, but angry, too angry to notice the hooded man approach him.

“What are you doing lad?” said the man in a deep, rich voice. Jon spun around just as the stranger pulled back his hood, revealing a tall man with broad shoulders, a handsome face with long red hair and a well-trimmed beard. His eyes were sky blue, and he grinned playfully at Jon.

“Who are you?” demanded Jon.

“Nobody of concern,” replied the man with a shrug. “Just passing through to see the sights.”

“There is not a lot to see around this part of Westeros, unless you plan on traveling to the Wall to join the Night's Watch,” said Jon.

“I have no interest in the Watch,” said the man. “Though the Northern weather has always been my favourite.”

Jon looked at the man oddly. He seemed harmless enough, but Jon could sense something else to the man, something that spoke of danger.

“Why do you not attend the feast?” questioned the man.

Jon scowled as he was reminded. “A bastard has no place nobles and royalty,” he muttered darkly before turning back to the dummy and resumed hacking at it.

“You feel unworthy because of your birth status?” asked the man in a curious tone.

“Is that what you want me to say?” snapped Jon without looking back.

“I don't think you should allow yourself or others to think that of you,” answered the man. “Leaves emotional scars.”

“And what you know of being a bastard?” said Jon. He stopped smacking the dummy to face the man again, breathing heavily.

“Years of observation,” answered the man. Jon frowned. Who was this strange person? In the distance, the sound of rolling thunder echoed through the sky, causing the man to look up with a small smile.

“There's a storm coming Jon Snow,” he said.

“How did you...” began Jon.

“I think tonight is a good night for a man to go for a stroll through Winter Town,” the man interrupted before shrugging. “Who knows? Perhaps the gods will favour you.”

And with that, the man pulled his hood back up over his head, turned around and walked away at a brisk pace. Jon's frown deepened as his confusion grew. He quickly followed after the man, dropping his sword into the dirt.

“Hey, wait!” he called out, but the man ignored him and rounded a corner. Jon turned around the corner just as a flash of light blinded him, followed by an almighty clap of thunder that knocked him to the dirt. The white spots in his vision took a moment to clear, but when they did, Jon saw that the stranger had disappeared, and it began to rain.

Jon picked himself up out of the dirt and looked around for the man. There was no way he could have escaped from Jon, there simply weren't any exits nearby. Jon sighed and ran his hands through his thick, dark curls in frustration before looking up into the dark sky. A bolt of lightning lit up the air directly above him, bathing Winterfell in bright blue light before fading as quickly as it came. Jon felt an urge to go into Winter Town come over him, spurred on by the stranger's words, so he walked on.

* * *

 

By the time Jon arrived in Winter Town, the rain had gone from a light drizzle to torrential downpour, soaking through all of Jon's clothes completely. He should have been cold, but he only felt a determination to see the hammer. He had no idea why, but the man's words continued to ring in his head.

Nobody was out in the main street, all having fled inside to escape the raging storm above. But not Jon. His steps were long and determined as he marched into the town square, where the hammer sat on top of its rock, the leather thong at the end of the hilt gently swaying in the wind. Rain pattered off the silver head of the hammer, slithering down to form a puddle at the base of the rock.

Jon brushed some of his hair out of his eyes before looking up into the sky. The dark clouds were swirling directly above him menacingly, yet he felt no fear. Looking down at the hammer, Jon thought of all the people who doubted him because of his tainted blood. Lady Stark, Sansa, Theon, even his own father's sad looks, all these fuelled him as he grabbed the hilt of the hammer with his right hand.

A powerful surge of energy travelled up Jon’s arm into the rest of his body the moment his skin touched the hilt. Jon's eyes widened slightly at the raw power, and for a brief moment he tried to let go of the hammer out of fear of what might happen. But he squashed down that fear and gripped the hilt tighter, then pulled. The hammer lifted, and underneath the rock crumbled away into mud until there was nothing left but Jon and the hammer.

The very second Jon raised the hammer, a lightning bolt, blue and thunderous fell from the sky and struck him, encasing him in miraculous light. Jon half-expected it to kill him instantly, but he only felt more electrified and stronger than he'd ever felt in his life before. His soaked breeches and shirt melted away to be replaced by silver armour that felt flexible and light yet incredibly strong. Attached to his shoulders was a long cape of the blackest midnight that billowed behind him.

As his armour morphed around him, Jon's sight was flooded with visions of things he'd never seen before. A battle between two armies, one led by a stag and the other a black and red dragon in a river, the stag crushing the dragon's chest with a mighty warhammer as rubies fell into the red waters... a black shrouded woman in a frozen wasteland, calling forth beautiful yet horrific creatures pale as ice and swords colder than winter... the man he had met earlier, handing a giant an axe with a hilt made out of a tree branch... a skirmish in the desert before a tower, overshadowed by the screams of a dying woman... a younger Ned Stark holding a baby as a girl covered in bloodstained sheets begged him to protect the baby... young Ned telling a young Catelyn that the baby’s name was Jon Snow...

Jon's eyes opened in horror at the revelations as lightning crackled all around him, lighting up the town square brilliantly. Without even thinking, he spun the hammer by the thong rapidly before catapulting himself into the night sky, leaving behind stunned smallfolk who could only say they saw a god amongst them from their houses the night the king arrived in the North


	2. The Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support! I'll be working on Hard as Valyrian Steel and the Wolf Kings as well so expect some updates from there too. Love yas!

Word of the mysterious god who took the hammer in the night had spread like wildfire overnight, reaching Ned's ears the moment he woke up. Normally he would have chalked it all up to superstitious smallfolk, but a hammer had literally fallen from the sky months earlier, which at this point had convinced Ned that just about anything was possible.

  
He was writing letters in his solar a few mornings after the incident when he heard a knock on the door of his solar. He sighed and dropped his quill before sitting back in his chair behind his desk.

  
“Come in,” he said. To Ned's surprise, Jon walked in and instantly the Stark patriarch noticed the differences in his son's appearance. Jon seemed taller, towering like a sentinel over everything around him. His shoulders were broader and his arms thicker underneath the leather jerkin he was wearing, his dark curls longer and his beard already thick despite having shaved only a few days prior. He also seemed more confident based on his stature, and in his right arm he held a wooden cane.

  
“Father,” greeted Jon in a deeper voice than normal, again surprising Ned.

  
“Son,” said Ned, “what can I do for you?”

  
“There is a lot you can do for me,” replied Jon. “But first, I have to tell you something. You’ve heard the stories being told around the castle right now, of course?”

  
“I have,” answered Ned slowly.

  
Jon smirked. “Well, the other night I left the feast early after Uncle Benjen said something that upset me, and I went out into the yard to train some more. A strange man I had never seen approached me and said some... interesting things to me.”

  
“What kind of things?” asked Ned.

  
Jon shrugged. “The opposite of what your wife would have said to me,” he replied.

  
Ned sighed. “Jon, I am aware of my wife's lack of warmth towards you, but I must ask that-"

  
“I wasn't finished,” interrupted Jon. The act stunned Ned so much that he quieted instantly. Jon had never been rude to anyone ever.

  
“As I was saying, the man recommended that I go into Winter Town to try my luck with the hammer, so I went. Imagine my surprise when me, a supposed bastard was able to lift the hammer with no problem.”

  
To prove his point, Jon held up the cane he was holding, and in a stunning flash of blue light, the cane was replaced by the hammer that had once resided in Winter Town’s square. But what was even more surprising was when the rest of Jon transformed as well. His dark breeches and jerkin morphed into gleaming silver armour with a dark cape connected to the two discs on his chest plate, his hair now suddenly tied back in a knot at the back of his head. The arms of his armour were gleaming silver scales that perfectly fit along his surprisingly-muscular arms.

  
“Imagine my surprise when I also learned who my mother  and real father were, _uncle_ ,” continued Jon, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

  
Ned’s eyes widened. “Who told you?” he asked.

  
“The hammer showed me visions of you at the Tower of Joy, and my mother, _Lyanna Stark_ , begging you to protect me from the same bastard who murdered my other family,” sneered Jon angrily. “The same bastard who is currently sleeping under your roof.”

  
Ned was speechless. He'd never seen Jon so angry like this in his life. He'd always been the most reserved of the Stark family, so to see him so openly emotional about this was almost frightening.

  
“When were you going to tell me uncle?” demanded Jon. “Or did you plan on keeping me in the dark for the rest of my life?”

  
“It was too dangerous for you to live under your real name while Robert still lives,” said Ned weakly.

  
“It's too dangerous for him while he's still here,” snapped Jon. He then looked down at the hammer in his hand. “I'm not going to kill him,” he quickly added when Ned opened his mouth to protest, “but that doesn't mean I'll tolerate being in the same castle as him for another second.”

  
Ned sunk back in his chair, feeling more tired in his life than ever before. In just a few short moments, not only had his entire perspective on life changed, but the boy who he had thought of as another son had told him he knew the Lord of Winterfell's greatest secret. The more people who knew Jon's true heritage, the more dangerous it would be.

  
“Where will you go?” Ned finally asked.

  
For the first time that morning, Jon actually looked uncomfortable. “When I became... this, I had another vision, one of things beyond the Wall,” he answered. “I know you don't believe in the stories Old Nan told us as children, but I have to see if they are true. There are things out there, and that deserter you executed was more than convinced of what he saw.”

  
“So you will join the Night's Watch?” asked Ned.

  
“No. My fate lies elsewhere,” said Jon. “I have to see if the vision was telling me the truth, and then I will fly to Essos to find my lost aunt and uncle.”

  
Ned internally winced. The two surviving children of Aerys Targaryen were somewhere across the Narrow Sea, little more than beggars last he'd heard.

  
“Is there anything I can say to convince you to stay?” said Ned tiredly.

  
Jon shook his head. “No, the Gods have given me a mission that I must complete,” he said.

  
“When will you go?”

  
“Today.”

  
Ned's eyes widened. “So soon? Don't you need to pack?” he said incredulously.

  
“No, I can fly wherever I want to now,” said Jon simply, lifting the hammer to explain further.

  
Ned sighed yet again and ran his fingers through his hair. He then stood up from his hair, walked around his desk and clasped Jon by the shoulder. “Are you sure you are up to this?” he said worriedly.

  
Jon gave him a sad smile. “Yes,” he said. “But before I go, I must ask you one thing.”

  
“Anything.”

  
“Tell your wife the truth. We both deserve that closure.”

  
Ned nodded his head at that, albeit reluctantly. “I suppose you do.” He then looked down at the hammer. It was a one-handed warhammer, with a simple yet elegant design. The head of the hammer was one solid block rectangular-prism in shape, though thick and heavy-looking. The hilt was covered in maroon leather with a leather thong on the end, for what purpose Ned wasn't sure. “Have you named your new weapon yet?” he asked.

  
“I have, actually,” said Jon.

  
“What is it?”

  
Jon actually grinned at Ned before saying, “Mjolnir.”

* * *

 

It was late at night when Ned guided Jon to the North gate that started the road that led to the Wall. Under cover of darkness, Ned pulled his son into a tight hug that lasted for a long time. He still did not understand all of what was happening, neither did he like it, but he trusted Jon's judgement on the matter wholeheartedly.

  
“When I find out what is going on, I will come to you immediately,” promised Jon.

  
“Hopefully it is nothing,” said Ned. He let go of Jon and took a few steps back before letting out a deep breath. He looked at the young man standing before him, and felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Jon was more Stark than his cousins, barring Arya, but he looked completely like his own man now clad in his new armour and cape.

  
“I hope Lady Stark can find it in her heart to forgive you,” said Jon earnestly.

  
Ned had told his wife the truth of Jon's parentage earlier that day, and it had not gone well to say the least. Catelyn had yelled at Ned for over an hour during that conversation and prohibited him from coming to her chambers that night and however many nights they had left until he departed with the king for the South, and while Ned certainly deserved Catelyn's ire, he hoped that she would forgive him.

  
“She will come around,” said the Stark lord. “You'd best be off before someone spots us.”

  
“Right,” said Jon, and he took a few steps back from Ned before sighing deeply. “I will return.”

  
“I know you will,” said Ned quietly.

  
Jon nodded his head once before he began spinning Mjolnir by the thong at a speed so fast it caused a small yet powerful gust of wind that made Ned's cloak billow violently. Then he launched himself into the air, disappearing into the night sky.

  
“So that's what the thong is for,” muttered Ned in wonder. He shook in his disbelieving before turning back to re-enter Winterfell. This world is going to change, he thought bitterly.

* * *

The hunting party pressed onwards through the Kingswood, eager to catch the white stag that had been spotted outside the city walls. The hounds barked and snapped their jaws ferociously after their quarry, while close behind them their masters followed on their horses, bows and spears at the ready. The man at the head of the party, a City Watch captain named Harlan dug his heels into the side of his steed enthusiastically, his own spear gripped tightly in his right hand.

  
“We've almost got it lads!” boomed Harlan. He could see the pale hide of the stag flitting through the forest trying to escape the party, but Harlan wasn't going to let up. A hide like that would be worth a fortune, especially if he sold it to the queen.

  
Suddenly though, Harlan's horse stopped running and lurched onto its hind legs, whinnying in fear. Harlan was caught by surprise and fell from his saddle, dropping his spear and landing on the earthy ground so hard the air was knocked from his lungs. He coughed hoarsely before struggling to get up just as the rest of the hunting party caught up to him.

  
“What happened?” said one of the men.

  
“Dunno, something scared me horse,” answered Harlan. He then noticed how all the other horses were whinnying nervously, and the hounds were barking madly.

  
“What's gotten into them?” wondered another soldier.

  
“Sounds like they've caught the whiff of something else,” replied another.

  
There was a loud crunch of vegetation, followed by a growl of something big. Harlan drew his sword, himself now feeling nervous. The other followed his lead, all displaying nervous expressions on their faces. Harlan spotted a hulking shadow through the trees, but before he could say anything, it jumped high into the air, disappearing into the treeline.

  
“What the f-“ Harlan was cut off when something huge slammed into the ground nearby, knocking him from his feet and scattering everything. A mighty roar tore through the air, filling Harlan with blood-curdling fear. He got up just in time to see the monster wield a greatsword so large that it cut an entire horse in half, splattering blood everywhere. Men screamed as they tried to fell the beast, but it paid the arrows and spears no mind before brutally murdering several of Harlan's men.

  
Harlan scrambled to his feet and took off running in the opposite direction away from the battle. Fear propelled his feet forward, each scream of death behind him only fuelling him forward. However, the monster jumped in his path, towering over him in dark steel. The greatsword it held dripped with blood, and Harlan froze.

  
“Weak,” boomed the monster before raising its sword high into the air.

  
Harlan barely had time to lift his arms up weakly in defence before the sword came down on his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooo what do you think the monster was? Let me know!


	3. Spring and Shadow

Sansa was sitting in her lessons, sewing a golden stag chasing a red wolf into her grey handkerchief. In the few short days since she had known him, Prince Joffrey seemed like the man of her dreams; beautiful, golden-haired and so kind it made her heart ache. She longed for the day when they would be wed and she could have his beautiful babies.

  
Sansa's daydreaming was cut off when of all people, her own mother came into the room, asking for Sansa and Arya. Septa Mordane looked more than a little upset but acquiesced, and Sansa stood up, smoothed her skirts out then followed her lady mother.

  
“Where are we going Mother?” asked Sansa politely.

  
“Who cares? Just as long as it gets me out of that boring room,” huffed Arya.

  
Before Sansa could shoot a reply, Mother said, “Keep quiet, the both of you.”

  
Sansa’s mouth snapped shut, feeling her cheeks heat up in shame. Mother led them into an empty room before closing and barring the door, then she looked around with narrowed eyes. Sansa was confused, why was Mother acting this way?

  
“Mother, is everything alright?” she asked worriedly.

  
“No, everything is not alright,” said Mother in a weary tone. She then gave her daughters such a piercing look that it frightened Sansa slightly. “What I am about to tell you must not leave this room, do you understand?”

  
“What is it?” asked Arya.

  
“Swear to me first, swear you will never repeat to anyone what I'm about to tell you,” said Mother vehemently.

  
“I swear,” said Arya with no hesitation. Sansa repeated the sentiment, though a little slower.

  
Mother sighed deeply before sinking into a nearby chair. Sansa noted how exhausted and upset she looked, like something had been weighing on her for a long time.

  
“There is no easy way to put this, but very simply your father has been lying to us for years,” Mother finally said.

  
“What?” said Arya in her typical unlady-like fashion.

  
“Jon Snow is not your half-brother, or even a bastard,” continued Mother, “he is the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

  
Sansa gasped loudly. “How can that be?” she exclaimed.

  
“Your Father lied to protect his nephew from Robert's wrath, disguising him as his own bastard,” continued Mother. “For years, I hated everything that Jon stood for, thinking he was the living testament to my husband's infidelity, and he never even deserved it.”

  
Mother’s voice cracked at the end, which made Sansa's heart break. She suddenly felt awful for having treated Jon like an outsider for all these years, which all came from a lie started by her father to protect him. She discreetly wiped away the tears from her eyes, but in spite of the grim situation she was in right now, she couldn't help but think of all the songs and stories she knew. A secret prince, living under someone else's roof to hide from the bad people.

  
Arya, for the most part, remained quiet yet her face looked thoughtful as she stared at the ground, but when she looked up at Sansa and Mothed, her eyes were accusatory.

  
“You treated him like scum for years, the both of you,” she sneered.

  
“Arya!” exclaimed Sansa.

  
“Oh don't deny it, it's true!” snapped Arya. “You both thought you were better than him and looked at him like he was inferior to you, but the whole time he was really the heir to the Iron Throne! And even if he wasn't, he's still family, our brother.”

  
Sansa was surprised when Mother didn't scold her younger daughter for being so wild and angry, and instead she just looked more defeated.  
“When he returns, I will apologise to him for all the horrible things I have done to him,” said Mother quietly.

  
“Returns? Where has he gone?” asked Sansa.

  
“I am not sure, but he fled Winterfell under cover of darkness last night,” answered Mother. “Your father said that he wields that hammer that fell from the sky now and become something more than human.”

  
“He ran away?!” yelled Arya.

  
“He will come back,” said Mother quickly, “but he will be gone for a while.”

  
Arya scowled deeply, but nodded her head. “I don't care who he is, he's still my brother,” she declared strongly.

  
“You cannot tell anyone of this. The king will have us all killed if he finds out we are harbouring the greatest threat to his claim to the Iron Throne,” said Mother strongly. Both girls nodded their heads quickly. In spite of her age, Sansa knew the dangers of talking about something as important as this.

  
Later that day, Sansa went down to the crypts underneath the castle to see the statue of Lyanna Stark, now revealed to be Jon's mother. When she was younger, Sansa was frightened of the crypts, especially after the prank Robb and Jon pulled on her and Arya. Now that she was ten and six years old, a woman flowered and grown, the crypts were less scary, yet she still felt a foreboding presence whenever she came down, which wasn't often these days.

  
To Sansa's surprise, Arya was down there as well, staring up at the statue of the very woman Sansa had come to see.

  
“It makes sense, doesn't it?” said Arya idly once Sansa was close enough.

  
“What does?” asked Sansa.

  
“Jon, who his mother is, Father's protectiveness of him, it all makes sense now,” elaborated Arya. “It's a good thing he looks more Stark than Targaryen, otherwise he'd have been killed a long time ago.”

  
“I was horrible to him,” said Sansa quietly.

  
“You were,” agreed Arya.

  
“I was only ever trying to please Mother,” continued Sansa, and now that she was saying it out loud, her excuse sounded rather pathetic, even to her own ears.

  
Arya must have agreed, because she snorted derisively and said, “You've always tried too hard to please people.”

  
“Is that a bad thing?” said Sansa defensively.

  
“Yes,” said Arya, and she didn't go further than that, which upset Sansa.

  
The older Stark girl opened her mouth to argue, but a gust of wind startled her and Arya both.

  
“Did you forget to close the door?” demanded Arya angrily.

  
“Of course not you fool!” snapped Sansa, then she frowned. “The wind did not come from the entrance, it came from deeper.”

  
Arya frowned as well as she looked down to the darker depths of the Winterfell crypt. “Maybe some's down there,” she wondered aloud.

  
“We should leave, before somebody wonders where we are,” suggested Sansa, barely managing to keep the fear from her voice.

  
Arya looked at her older sister with a mocking look, one eyebrow raised. “Are you scared?” she said.

  
Sansa scoffed. “Of course not,” she replied, and to prove her point, she took the lead and walked further down into the crypt. Truthfully, Sansa was terrified, but she would never admit that to Arya, she'd never hear the end of it. But as the two sisters walked together further down, Sansa noticed that it was getting colder. The statues seemed more grim the further they went, like the ancient Kings of Winter had deemed them naught in their presence.

  
A loud clang of steel on stone made Sansa jump and squeal, and her hand clutched her chest tightly to calm her nerves. Arya, on the other hand, had balled her hands into fists and her face contorted into an aggressive expression, seeming ready to fight whatever was down there with them.

  
“Who's there? Come on out or I'll knock you out!” yelled Arya angrily, her voice echoing through the crypt. Arya's challenge was not answered at first, but suddenly the temperature dropped dramatically, plunging the crypt into an icy cold that seemed to pierce Sansa through her heart.

  
“The smaller one is brave, a warrior maiden through and through,” said a rattling, deep voice as cold as the crypt. The voice seemed to come from all directions, emanating from the very walls around them.

  
“Yet the older one possesses a different type of courage,” said a more womanly voice, warmer and kinder than the first voice but no less otherworldy.

  
“Two sisters, one Day, the other Night,” said the first voice.

  
“Both will be needed to help the Stormcaller defeat Death,” added the second. “He is strong, but not strong enough to bring forth the Dawn.”

  
“I will claim the younger,” said the cold voice, and then, to Sansa's horror, shadow surrounded Arya like a thick cloud of blackness. Arya gasped and sank to her knees as the darkness seemed to seep into her skin, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell.

  
“Arya!” screamed Sansa, and she moved to help her sister, but she was stopped by a ray of light so bright that Sansa had to raise her hand over her eyes.

  
“Your sister is fine, but you have been chosen,” said the second voice.

  
“Chosen for what?” called out Sansa.

  
“Your king has need of you when the time comes, but you will need added strength if you are to help him,” answered the voice. “Now bask in the glory of the Spring, and claim your destiny!”

  
The last thing Sansa recalled was the sound of rushing water, followed by rolling thunder and a war cry.

* * *

It was cold, Jon noted, which was ironic seeing as he was probably several hundred kilometres North of the Wall by now. The air was frigid, and not even his control of the weather could lift the freezing curse. He'd been in the true North for at least several weeks to maybe even months, and the landscape had barely even changed. For the millionth time that day, Jon was reminded that the Lands of Always Winter belonged to other gods, gods who were cold and evil.

  
Because that's what a god was now. After lifting the Mjolnir, Jon had acquired the powers of the God of Thunder, the crown prince of the Old Gods and their greatest warrior. He wielded the Thunder God's own weapon, a hammer that only the worthy could wield and had the power to control the weather. With that power, Jon had also become stronger than anything that walked the earth, faster than a speeding arrow and more durable than the strongest steel. He could kill anything.

  
But the Thunder God had warned Jon that in spite of his new power, the enemy he was up against was unlike anything he had ever seen. Mjolnir would be able to kill these creatures, these Others and their undead minions, but they could kill him as well.

  
Jon flew over an endless white landscape, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. The Thunder God had told him that the Others had started massacring the outer Wildling clans to build up their forces before they would move on to bigger settlements. But if Jon got there first, he could stop the Great War before it even began.

  
Jon suddenly spotted something different, a dark spot amongst the sea of white. He lowered his altitude to get a better look, before landing on the ground, kicking up snow. In front of him was a spiral 6 made out of cut limbs and decapitated horse heads, a gruesome symbol whose meaning Jon didn't yet understand. It was fresh, judging by the blood still seeping into the snow and staining it scarlet.

  
A sudden, horrifying shriek pierced the air, bringing a chill that didn't come from the cold winds. Jon stood up from his crouched position, adjusting his grip on Mjolnir as he squinted his eyes to try and see through the white winds. He saw numerous dark shales moving towards him slowly, and the closer they came the more obvious it became to Jon as to their identity.

  
It was a horde of dead, several hundred at least, and all in various states of decay. Some looked like they had only been recently killed, while other looked several weeks or even months in the process. Jon guessed that the Others had tried to set a trap for Jon by luring him to the grotesque symbol, but Jon planned on giving them a surprise welcome that would rattle them.

  
With a roar, Jon jumped high into the air then dove to the ground, hammer raised above his head. When his feet touched the snowy ground, he slammed it with his hammer, and a stream of lightning travelled along the ground, melting snow before incinerating several wights. The undead let out a piercing shriek before they charged at Jon, and he grinned at his coming foes. This would be the first time Jon would be able to truly test out his new abilities, and he eagerly waited.

  
The first wight came, rusty sword raised and blue eyes glowing coldly. But Jon knocked the wight's head clean off, splattering congealed blood everywhere and the body sank. Jon made simply work to several more before throwing Mjolnir, knocking down a large undead snow bear. His arm still extended, Jon called back the hammer silently, and it flew straight back into his waiting hand. In the same movement Jon whirled around and hit a wight so hard it went flying into the air before crashing in a puff of snow.

  
“Is that it?!” boomed Jon. He was answered when the wights suddenly ceased to move, though they had completely surrounded him on all sides. The temperature plummeted suddenly, the first sign of something else coming. Directly in front of Jon, the wights parted to let a strange creature through. It's armour shimmered oddly, melding into the snow like perfect camouflage. In its hand was a long thin sword that looked to be made of razor-sharp ice, capable of cutting through anything. It moved with a lethal grace, unlike its lumbering undead minions, and Jon scowled as it neared.

  
The Other regarded Jon with little to no expression, except for a slight tilt of its head as it regarded its opponent. Jon twisted the hammer around in his hand once before readying himself, and the Other swished its blade through the cold air once in response.

  
Jon moved first, impatient to end the fight. He sprinted forward, lifting Mjolnir up before bringing it down towards the Other's head. The Other blocked the blow with its sword, but the force of Jon's attack drove it to one knee. The Other's glowing blues eyes widened in surprise, which made Jon grin in triumph.

  
“You're not the only gods,” he said before driving the Other back with a push.

  
The Other regained its footing before attacking Jon, throwing a series of thrust and strikes at him. Jon parried every blow easily before he struck the Other so hard it was knocked backwards into the snow. When it got up, Jon noticed that the Other's jaw had spider web-like cracks running through it from where Jon had hit it. The Other said something in a scratchy language that sounded like cracking ice before it charged again.

  
Jon didn't even let the Other get close this time, instead choosing to raise his hammer and call forth lightning from the sky. A bolt struck the Mjolnir, charging it up before Jon redirected it at the Other. The lightning bolt slammed into the Other, and it let out a soul-rending scream. Steam rose from the Other as it melted before Jon before it collapsed to the snow in a pile of steaming icy bones and armour before those too melted away.

  
Jon straightened himself upright and looked around for a moment. The wights' all looked expressionless, but they did not bother to move.

  
“Anyone else?” he asked. The wights all moved as one then, converging on Jon's position with challenging screams. Jon knocked a few of the leaders down simple enough, but when they all came too close, he began spinning Mjolnir at super speed, creating an impenetrable shield that knocked away anything that got too close. He would redirect the spinning hammer around him, often killing multiple foes at once before Jon leapt into the air and summoned another lightning bolt and slammed the hammer into the ground, creating a dome of lightning that expanded outwards and incinerated many wights. Jon prepared to fight again when the vision of undead creatures and snow was replaced by tall buildings and crowds of living people.

  
He saw smallfolk of all shapes and sizes clamouring towards the steps of a great sept, the massive bells inside ringing mightily. Nobles and soldiers alike all gathered on the top, where a chopping block had been placed in fright for all to see. Jon recognised the Kingsguard and Joffrey, wearing a crown and clad in Lannister crimson. He could also see Sansa, looking at her betrothed nervously yet adoringly.  
Lord Stark was brought up, limping and chained, where he confessed to being part of a plot to usurp the throne.

  
“Father?” said Jon, even though he knew the man couldn't hear him. Joffrey called for Ilyn Payne to bring him Father's head, and Sansa began screaming for mercy. Jon was helpless to stop Father from being decapitated by his own sword and then the vision faded.

  
Jon felt stunned for a moment, as he was prone to be whenever he had a vision shown to him by the Gods. That meant that Lord Stark and Sansa were in danger in a city, most probably King's Landing, and he needed to help them!

  
Ignoring the charging undead, Jon took off for the skies again, this time heading South to save his family.


	4. Escaping the Viper Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be an action-packed chapter!

Arya stalked through the crowds, completely unseen as she bent the light around her to camouflage completely. Being chosen as the champion for the God of Shadows certainly had its advantages, such as moving around the Red Keep or even the entire King's Landing completely invisible. Of course, there were other advantages, but right now only a few of them were useful in helping her get to her destination.

  
An owl flew oved her head before perching on a ledge above Arya, and it looked down to stare at her, seeing through her camouflage.  
“Your father is being taken to the Sept of Baelor,” it told her.

  
“Is Sansa there?” asked Arya.

  
“She is, should I send her a message?” answered the owl.

  
“Tell her I'm coming.”

  
The owl bowed its head before taking off into the air again, heading out of Flea Bottom towards the great sept. Arya followed as best as she could, occasionally teleporting from one dark place to another to close the distance faster. Teleportation had so far been the hardest power to master, mostly because it drained her energy a little every time she did it. But like any muscle, the more she worked at it the easier it became for her.

  
Arya wasn't entirely sure how everything went to the Seven Hells, but she was sure it had something to do with the Lannisters. The Shadow God had warned her that the Gods of Trickery and Rage had aligned themselves with the ambitious lions, and while it was easy to spot the God of Rage's champion, the monstrous Ser Gregor Clegane with his enormous greatsword that was taller than Father, the God of Trickery's selected vessel was another matter entirely. So far, Arya had a small list of people, the top of which was either the queen or Lord Baelish, but right now, the identity of the Trickster God was the least of her worries.

  
Father, in his stupid, stubborn nobility and honour, had allowed himself to fall into a trap that cost him his guard as well as his confinement for a number of days. Now, he was being led to the Sept of Baelor to confess and take the black. But Arya wasn't going to let that happen. She was going to rescue him and Sansa and take the three of them back to the North, away from the South and its corrupt people.

  
Arya teleported one more time, this time onto the top of the statue of Baelor, where she had a clear view of everything going on. She could see everything from her position: the guards, the smallfolk and the gathered nobles atop of the stairs to the sept, Sansa's flaming red hair, the white cloaks of the Kingsguard and- _Father!_

  
Before Arya could do anything, the owl from earlier flew down and perched on her shoulder.

  
“Your sister said to wait,” it said.

  
“Wait? My father is in danger! They'll never let him live!” argued Arya.

  
“She told me that she has a plan,” was all the owl said in response before it flew away again.

  
Arya huffed, but relaxed and leaned against the side of the statue's head to watch the trial. Father confessed to attempting to usurp Joffrey's throne before declaring the blonde prince as the one true heir to the Iron Throne. As Father continued his obvious farce of a confession speech, Arya noticed the clouds starting to gather around King's Landing, casting dark shadows upon the land. The distant rumble of thunder could be heard, but something within Arya told her that this was not normal.

  
She looked down at Sansa, who appeared too fixed upon Father and Joffrey to notice the sudden change in the weather. Father seemed to have noticed it as well, along with several others, as their eyes all turned upwards into heaven to see the clouds.

  
Apparently, Joffrey hadn't noticed either as he began speaking to the smallfolk, who weren’t even paying attention to him anymore as lightning flashed across Blackwater Bay, lighting up the city. Arya's hand went to the small dagger strapped to her belt. Whatever this strange weather was, it certainly was not natural. Only Joffrey’s voice brought her back.

  
“Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!” yelled the young king.

  
Sansa screamed and backed away slightly, her eyes glowing bright green at the same time Arya jumped down from the statue and teleported onto the steps midair. Father was dragged to the chopping block and his neck forced onto it. Lightning crackled much closer now, almost like the gods were furious at the injustice of the events unfolding. As Arya drew her dagger and slashed at a gold cloak's knees, the entire steps of the sept was encased by light and a deafening boom.

  
Arya dropped to her knees, ears ringing loudly ass her vision turned white. For a moment she was worried that she had gone blind, when the whiteness faded away. She looked around for a moment, seeing that everyone else was in much the same position she was in as well. Joffrey had even tumbled down to the bottom of the steps amongst the dazed smallfolk. Then Arya noticed one person not stunned by the lightning. He was in dark silver armour with glistening scale sleeves and a billowing black cape, holding a hammer that looked all too familiar. His long black hair was tied to the back of his head by a leather cord, and when he turned around, Arya's mouth dropped open.

  
“Jon?!” she exclaimed.

  
“Get your father and sister and get out of here!” roared Jon. He then spun around and grabbed one of the recovering Kingsguard and knocked him out with a punch to the face. Arya wasted no time and grabbed Father, wrapping an arm around his shoulder before dragging him over to Sansa, who had wrapped up Ser Barristan Selmy with roots sprung up from the ground.

  
“Was this your plan?” she asked.

  
“No, actually I was going to summon a swarm of animals to distract everyone so we could all escape,” replied Sansa as she turned to them.

  
“Jon's plan was better,” said Arya.

  
“Only because he's your favourite,” snapped Sansa.

  
“Can we focus on the task at hand?” said Father wearily. “I’m not sure how long Jon can hold them all off.”

  
Arya looked behind her shoulder to see Jon effortlessly holding off the gold cloaks and the Kingsguard combined with his hammer, all the while grinning widely.

  
“I think he'll be fine,” she said before making sure everyone was holding on to her, then she closed her eyes and willed herself away from the sept. When Arya opened her eyes again, the three Starks were in the Street of Steel, where many people were looking at them with fearful eyes at their sudden appearance in the street.

  
“Let's go,” said Sansa as she collected herself and straightened her skirts. Arya and Father followed the redheaded Stark closely, ignoring the looks thrown their way.

  
“Where are we going?” asked Father.

  
“I... don't know,” admitted Sansa.

  
Arya snorted. “Great, for all we know you could be taking us back to the Red Keep without even realising,” she said.

  
“Well, I don't see you with any bright ideas!” snapped Sansa angrily.

  
“Please daughters, enough,” said Father. “I know a place on this street.”

  
He led the two girls down towards the middle of the street and into one of the stifling hot blacksmith stores, which was dark and smelled of sulphur. Arya could tell based on the weapons and armours hanging on the racks that whoever owned this particular shop was good at his trade.

  
“Tobho!” called out Father. In the back of the shop, there was the sound of something dropping before a door opened and a young yet strong-looking man came out.

  
“Tobho is not here my- Lord Stark!” exclaimed the boy.

  
“Gendry,” said Father. “We need your help.”

  
“Thought you was at the sept, ready to take the black,” said Gendry.

  
“I have been given another chance at my life,” said Father. “We need clothes that will hide our appearances and weapons, as well as any spare coin you might have.”

  
“Lord Tobho won't be back for a few more hours m'lord, but I'll be sure to tell him what I've done with his missing stuff,” promised Gendry before he disappeared into the back room again.

  
“Where have I seen his face before?” wondered Sansa.

  
“He's Robert Baratheon's bastard,” answered Father, “but he does not know it.”

  
Sansa gasped. “He's in danger if he stays in King's Landing!” she said in terror.

  
“He can't stay here,” said Arya, agreeing with her sister.

  
“Too many people will just drag us down,” argued Father. Just then, there was the sound of thunder, and Jon stepped into the shop, his silver armour covered in blood.

  
“Jon!” screamed Arya, and without thinking, she ran and leapt into his arms, not caring about the blood. She felt his thick arms wrap around her shoulder and squeeze lightly before he released her, a serious look on his face.

  
“We don't have a whole lot of time before they figure out where we are,” he said. “People have already fled the street with word of your sudden appearance here, and Cersei has sent for the Mountain.”

  
“If he catches us we're doomed,” said Father.

  
“We have three people here with the power of gods,” said Jon nonchalantly.

  
“The Mountain is the strongest,” warned Father.

  
“Not as strong as me,” retorted Jon.

  
Gendry returned then, with some clothes, bags and a sword. He handed them off to Father, but Arya grabbed one of the cloaks and draped it around her shoulders before pulling the hood up over her head. Sansa copied her action, though Arya noticed how Father winced in pain when he tried to do the same.

  
“He's still not better,” said Sansa to Jon.

  
“He won't be strong enough to wield that sword to protect you,” said Jon thoughtfully. Then he looked at Gendry. “What's your name?” he asked.

  
“Gendry Waters, m'lord,” answered the young blacksmith.

  
“A bastard,” said Jon. “I know what that's like.”

  
Arya pulled at Jon's cape, beckoning him to lean down so that she could whisper in his ear.

  
“He's Robert Baratheon's son,” she said quietly. Jon's face darkened in understanding before he stood up straight again. Had he gotten taller?

  
“Thank you for the risks you have taken to defend my family, we'll not forget that easily,” said Jon to Gendry. “But you've also put yourself at risk by helping us. If you stay, they will kill you.”

  
Gendry's eyes widened as the realisation hit him, and he swallowed thickly.

  
“But if you come with us,” continued Jon, “we can provide shelter for you at Winterfell as well as a job at our forge with good coin and a place to stay for your efforts, as a small token of our appreciation.”

  
“I- I don't know what to-“ Gendry was cut off by the sound of yelling and the clanking of armour that was moving quickly.

  
“Please, help get my family to safety,” pleaded Jon before he turned towards the front of the shop.

  
“Let me go outside first,” said Arya.

  
“It's too dangerous,” argued Jon.

  
“They'll never see me!” insisted Arya.

  
“They won't,” added Sansa before Jon could open his mouth. He scowled before finally nodding his head, telling Sansa and the other to go through the back, and Arya turned invisible. She quietly left out of the shop's front, and was confronted by a whole legion of gold cloaks, standing at the back, the unmistakeable form of Ser Gregor towered over the rest of them. To Arya's shock and annoyance, Jon walked right out in the open to meet them.

  
“Hello,” said Jon in a jovial voice, raising his hand to wave at them. Arya's jaw dropped. _Had Jon gone insane?!_

  
“You are under arrest for aiding in the attempted escape of Lord Stark and his daughters!” yelled the City Watch captain. “Hand over your hammer and come quietly!”

  
Jon laughed. “Hand over my hammer? I'm afraid that's impossible, because only I can lift it.”

  
“Seize him!” ordered the captain.

  
Several gold cloaks came at Jon, swords drawn. But Jon easily parried their attacks with his hammer, not even flinching under the blows, and he just as quickly disabled them, knocking them to the ground with bone-shattering smacks with his hammer. Other gold cloaks joined the fray, but Jon took them out as well with a fury and skill Arya had never seen before, and very quickly the Street of Steel was filled with dead or unconscious gold cloaks.

  
“You could at least make it a challenge for me!” roared Jon.

  
Ser Gregor stepped forward then, his enormous black greatsword drawn and he bellowed out a challenging roar at Jon. Jon issued a roar of his own and charged at the Mountain, then brought his hammer down towards the Mountain's armoured face. However, the Mountain caught the hammer with his face and headbutt Jon, making the dark-haired warrior stumble back. Jon chuckled dazedly, but the Mountain followed up with a kick to Jon's torso that sent him flying back into the blacksmith's shop, smashing through the brick walls like wet paper.

  
The Mountain roared and smacked a gauntleted fist against his breastplate, making a loud clanging noise that made Arya's ears ring. However, suddenly Jon's hammer came flying out of the hole in the wall, smashing into the Mountain's chest and sending him hurtling down the street before crashing to the ground again, kicking up bricks and dirt everywhere. The hammer returned to Jon again, who spun the hammer and flew up into the air towards the Mountain. Arya saw the Mountain raise his sword to parry Jon's attack before she hightailed the opposite direction.

  
Arya spotted Father, Sansa and Gendry working their way through the crowds, hoods drawn up to hide their identities. Arya also noticed that Gendry had a finely-made warhammer strapped to his back, though unlike Jon's its head had a spike on one side and the shaft was much longer, like a battleaxe's. Arya teleported to them while still remaining invisible, but she tapped Sansa on the shoulder to let her know she was there.

  
“Where's Jon?” asked Sansa.

  
“Fighting the Mountain,” answered Arya.

  
“He'll die!” said Sansa in an upset tone.

  
“Trust me, I think Jon's the only man alive who can take on the Mountain,” assured Arya confidently. Jon had certainly changed since the last she saw him.

  
As the small party moved through the busy streets, Arya felt as though someone was watching her. She looked around to see nothing out of the ordinary, but something was definitely trying to hide in the shadows. Fortunately, she controlled the shadows.

  
Using another one of her powers, Arya's vision changed as all shadow vanished, leaving everything within her sight. She saw a man, dirty and wearing old clothing, but clutching a dagger with a sinister look on his face as he watched them. Arya also noticed other men similar to the first, and she leaned towards Sansa.

  
“We're being followed,” she said.

  
“By who?” asked Sansa.

  
“Assassins by the looks of them,” answered Arya. “Tell Father and the blacksmith to get ready for a fight.”

  
Sansa obeyed, and Father's hand went for the pommel of his sword while Gendry discretely pulled his warhammer over his shoulder. Arya looked around to see that they were surrounded by at least five assassins, who were beginning to close in on them from all sides, so she unsheathed her dagger and prepared to fight.

  
Suddenly though, the Mountain came flying out of a building and crashed onto the street, stunning everyone. The hulking beast shook his head and picked himself up before looking around, then growled menacingly when he saw the Starks and Gendry. He charged towards them, sword raised, but suddenly thick vines and roots sprang out of the ground and wrapped around the Mountain’s legs, tripping him over.

  
In the ensuing chaos that followed Arya teleported away, reappearing behind one of the assassins. She quickly jumped on his back and repeatedly stabbed him in the neck with her dagger. Blood sprayed out of the wounds, and the assassin made a sick gurgling sound before dropping to the ground dead. Arya teleported again, doing the same to the another assassin, but as she slit his throat from ear to ear, she looked up to see the other three assassins attacking Sansa, Father and Gendry.

  
Arya watched as Sansa screamed and backed away from her assailant, but before the assassin could kill her, her eyes glowed green and a flock of nearby pigeons swarmed the man, pecking at his eyes and face. The man screamed and backed away from Sansa, and Arya teleported onto the assassin's back and stabbed him right through the top of his skull. Gendry proved to be an adept fighter and he made short work of his opponent, but Father struggled against his because of his weakness, but he managed to overpower the final assassin and kill him.

  
Unfortunately, the Mountain broke free of the roots and roared angrily, but Jon reappeared and flew towards him. However, the Mountain backhanded Jon in the face, sending him hurtling into the air before crashing further down the street. Before Jon could get up the Mountain crashed on top on him before proceeding to pummel him into the ground.

  
“We have to help him!” yelled Father.

  
Sansa raised her arms into the air, and a multitude of roots sprang forth before traveling through the ground and buildings towards Jon and the Mountain before wrapping around the larger god. The Mountain roared in frustration, but Jon quickly picked himself up and punched the Mountain square in the jaw so hard a shockwave reverberated through the street, shaking the ground and cracking stone. He then picked up his hammer and smacked the beast away further down the street before running over to his family.

  
“He's not going to stop until one of us kills the other,” he said. He had a split lip and a his hair loose of its tie, and his armour was dirty but he looked otherwise fine.

  
“Then kill him!” said Gendry, but Jon shook his head.

  
“I might end up levelling the whole city if we keep going,” he said. “We have to leave now.”

  
“I can try and teleport us out,” offered Arya.

  
“You're not strong enough to get us far away from immediate danger,” said Sansa.

  
“What if she got a boost?” suggested Jon.

  
“A boost?” echoed Arya in confusion.

  
“If I shock you with my lightning, I could boost your power enough to get us all the way to Winterfell,” said Jon.

  
“Fine,” said Arya.

  
“What?!” both Father and Sansa exclaimed in horror.

  
“It's worth a shot!” snapped Arya.

  
Moving debris rumbled in the distance, and the Mountain's roar echoed through the city, alerting the Starks that time was running out.  
“Seven Hells, we need to go now!” yelled Jon.

  
“Let's do it!” said Arya. Jon nodded his head before spinning his hammer by the leather thong round and round. The hammer slowly picked up speed until it was kicking up a fierce wind, sending dust and leaves up into the air. As the Mountain came towards them, Sansa tried slowing him down with more giant plants latching onto him, but he cut through them all with his greatsword.

  
“Hold on to me!” screamed Arya over the howling wind. Everyone grabbed onto a part of Arya, and she focussed on the main courtyard in Winterfell as her destination. The Mountain was almost upon them, and as he jumped towards them, Jon let out a resonating bellow and slammed his electrified hammer into the ground. The lightning travelled up Arya's legs into her chest, and she felt herself become exponentially stronger before darkness claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the Kraken's son becomes king of the Ocean!


	5. A Son of the Sea and Land

“OOF!” Jon hit the cold, hard ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs. He heard the others dropping to the ground behind him with similar grunts of pain, and he sucked in a deep breath when he pushed himself up.

  
They were in the Winterfell courtyard, where a light snow had fallen earlier, blanketing everything with a thin sheet of whiteness. Many of the workers had all stopped to see the sudden arrivals, and a few of them had recognised them.

  
“Lord Stark?”

  
“We thought you was in King's Landing!”

  
“Someone fetch Maester Luwin and Lord Bran!”

  
“Arya? ARYA!” screamed a voice, which made Jon jump to his senses over all the others. Clambering up to his feet, he whipped around, Mjolnir at the ready to fight whatever enemy had come. But instead, he saw Sansa crouched over Arya, sobbing uncontrollably as their little sister lay unconscious. What was worse, Arya was surrounded by purple shadows that moved like tendrils around her tiny body, similar to how lightning would sometimes surround Jon.

  
“What in Seven Hells!” gasped Gendry, who pushed himself back from Arya's limp form in fright. Sansa however, held on to her little sister, begging her to wake up. Lord Stark tried to stand up, but he collapsed from exhaustion himself, though he remained conscious. Jon scrambled over to Arya and Sansa and gently tried to pull Sansa away.

  
“Leave her be, her magic is healing her,” he said into Sansa's ear. Sansa resisted, forcing Jon to use a little more force to pry her away from Arya, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted Maester Luwin running towards them.

  
“Lord Stark!” he exclaimed. “How did you-?”

  
“We have no time!” barked Lord Stark. “Get Arya to her room now, before someone sees her like this!”

  
Jon wasted no time to reach for Arya, but the moment he did, there was a loud screeching sound like tearing metal, and the next thing Jon knew, he had smashed right through the stable walls and landed in a pile of hay. The horses reared in fright and tried to flee, but Sansa sprinted in and, raising her hand, the horses calmed instantly. She then walked over and stretched out a hand, which Jon took and stood up.

  
“What happened?” he asked.

  
“You tried picking up Arya, but her shadow magic reacted negatively to you and threw you off her,” said Sansa. “It must have thought you to be a threat.”

  
“Arya's magic controls her?” said Jon.

  
Sansa bit her bottom lip worryingly. “I'm not sure. She's always had more difficulty learning how to control her magic than I did,” she said.  
Jon frowned, but said nothing as he led Sansa out of the stables (through the door this time) and back out to the courtyard. Arya, Gendry and Lord Stark were gone, but there were still people milling about.

  
“Where did my father go?” asked Sansa to one of the guards.

  
“Lord Stark was taken into the keep, with Lady Arya and that other boy, My Lady,” answered the guard. Sansa nodded her head and led the way into the keep, Jon following closely behind with his grip on Mjolnir tight. Many servants whispered at the Starks’ sudden and miraculous arrival, but just as many openly gawked at Jon's new appearance.

  
Sansa was silent right up until they arrived at Arya's chambers, where once inside and seeing Arya's still-sleeping form shrouded in shadow, she burst into tears again and sat on the chair next to her bed. Jon was stunned for a moment; he'd never seen Sansa so openly caring of Arya since they were both little girls, too young to understand how different they were from each other.

  
Maester Luwin was there, looking helpless as Arya rested in her bed. But then he came over to Jon and asked him what happened.

  
“She got us out of King's Landing,” answered Jon.

  
“How?” asked Luwin.

  
“She used her magic to transport us back to Winterfell instantly.”

  
“Impossible,” scoffed Luwin.

  
“Believe me old friend, if you had seen what I've seen, you'd start thinking anything was possible,” replied Jon. Maester Luwin still looked sceptical, but he nodded his head before muttering something about checking on Lord Stark and leaving.

  
Jon stood awkwardly for a moment before going to sit at Arya's side opposite Sansa. He placed Mjolnir on the floor at his feet, handle facing up, and peered at the girl who he still thought of as a sister. She was still so tiny, but Jon could tell that she had already been through quite a lot. Actually, as Jon looked up at Sansa, he thought she had grown up a lot as well.

  
“So, you both as well huh?” he said. Sansa looked back at him with a confused look.

  
“Excuse me?” she said.

  
“I saw the magic both of you used in King's Landing and here,” iterated Jon, “so which gods do you represent?”

  
“I was chosen by the God of Spring,” said Sansa, “Arya represents the Shadow God.”

  
“I see,” said Jon. “How...?”

  
“Did we get these powers?” finished Sansa. She gave a small smile before saying, “The day after you left for the Wall, Mother came to tell us that you are the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Arya and I went down to the crypts to se e your mother's statue, which was where we met the gods.”

  
“I see,” said Jon thoughtfully. “Did they tell you why they chose you?”

  
“The Spring God said something about the God of Death returning to this realm to finish what it started, but nothing more than that,” said Sansa.

  
“Do you remember the stories Old Nan used to tell us when we were children?” asked Jon. When Sansa nodded her head, he continued. “That's why I went North of the Wall, to see if the stories were true. Turns out, they're real. The Others, the undead, all of it.”

  
Sansa gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, her deep blue eyes wide in horror. “That's dreadful! Where are they now?”

  
“Still too far away to be considered a real threat for now, but the Others are wiping out clans of Wildlings and raising the dead to add to their army,” said Jon gravely.

  
“But what do the Others have to do with the God of Death?” asked Sansa.

  
“They have everything to do with the God of Death,” said Jon. “Think about it. Beings who can bring the dead back to life and using them to kill everything that has a heartbeat. Who else would want to do that?”

  
“Death,” answered Sansa quietly.

  
Jon nodded his head. “I'm glad I'm not the only one here. I thought I was for a long time, but then I went to King's Landing and saw you and Arya fighting, not to mention the Mountain,” he said.

  
“But what god chose you?” asked Sansa.

  
“The God of Thunder,” said Jon. “He even gave me his hammer to help in the coming wars.”

  
“The same hammer that was in Winter Town?”

  
“The very one.”

  
Sansa pursed her lips thought fully, her brows furrowed together in a slight frown before she nodded her head and turned back to Arya. Jon knew that there was something on the redhead's mind, but he shook it off and looked up at the ceiling.

 

"Jon?" said Sansa.

 

"Yes?" said Jon. 

 

"I uh... I'm sorry for being horrible to you for so long," said Sansa. Jon looked at her, feeling confused.

 

"Why are you saying this now?" he asked.

 

"It's been eating at me ever since I found out who you really were. I wanted to apologise to you earlier, but you had already left and I was never sure if I would see you again," said Sansa.

 

Jon smiled at Sansa. Even after the revelation of his birth parents, Jon continued to think of all the Stark children except for Sansa as his siblings. Sansa was just... Sansa. She had never had much of an impact on his life, mostly because ofher trying to appease her mother by staying away from him, but Jon could never say he ever disliked Sansa. He wasn't sure what to think about her if he was being honest with himself.

 

"Well, I can't have been all that fun to be around with all my sulking," he said offhandedly, but Sansa gave him a look.

 

"I was awful, just admit it," she said.

 

"Fine, you were occasionally awful to me," admitted Jon, if only to appease her.

 

"Can you forgive me?" Asked Sansa.

 

"There's nothing to forgive," said Jon easily.

 

"Forgive me!" Said Sansa more forcefully.

 

Jon bit back a laugh as he finally relented and said, "Alright! I forgive you."

 

Sansa gave Jon a beaming smile before she looked backto Arya again, and they fell into a more comfortable silence together that lasted several minutes.

  
“Do you think there are any others like us?” Sansa asked suddenly.

  
Jon shrugged. “It's likely, but I do hope that they’re on our side.”

* * *

In the early evening, the sun set beautifully over the river next to the castle of Riverrun, Theon Greyjoy walked along the banks of the river alone. Word had just reached them that Ned Stark, Arya and Sansa along with Jon Snow had miraculously escaped King's Landing and arrived in Winterfell.

  
What surprised Theon was the stories going around about Jon: apparently, he had been seen in armour unlike anything ever seen before and carrying the same hammer nobody could lift. Theon was surprised. By all accounts it sounded like Jon was looking and acting like a king. But that wasn't even the craziest of stories. According to the ravens, Jon and the Stark girls had acquired some kind of powers that made them gods in all but name.

  
Of course, Theon didn't believe those stories entirely, but he had learned that when everyone started saying the same thing everywhere, it was time to start listening to the stories being told. Yet Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, wielding that hammer that no one could wield?

Impossible, along with the tale of him fighting the Mountain in a battle so epic that it levelled half of King's Landing.

  
As Theon thought on the weird happenings throughout the Seven Kingdoms, a strange glint caught his eye. He cast his gaze into the water, and saw the tip of something shiny and gold just under the surface of the water. It looked sharp.

  
Feeling curious, Theon stripped out of his armour until he was in nothing but his breeches, and waded into the cool water. He got to about waist-deep in the water, then sucked in a deep breath and dove. The water was surprisingly clear if a little dark from the setting sun, yet still offering a perfect view of the trident imbedded in the river floor not too far away. Under the water, Theon frowned. _Who would leave a perfectly good trident lying around?_ It had a simple design, yet appeared to be made out of pure gold with few strange markings on it. Theon felt a strange desire to touch the trident, but he felt his air beginning to run out, so he swam back up to the surface, took a deep breath, then dove back into the water again.

  
That same strange urge to touch the trident fell upon Theon again, and he stretched his hand out towards the trident. The moment his skin made contact with the cool metal, his entire body seemed to lose control as his hand seemed to grip onto the long golden pole of the trident of its own accord. Golden light flashed everywhere from the trident to surround Theon, and then the trident turned scolding hot. Theon gasped, accidentally letting out precious air and he tried to let go of the trident, but he found that he couldn't not matter how hard he tried.

  
Theon started to panic. It felt like his entire hand was being branded, and he was losing air fast. He tried pulling the trident free of the sedimentary riverbed, but it was stuck fast. The golden light was blinding him, pulsing with a strange energy, and as the seconds ticked by, Theon really began to freak out. He needed to pull free, otherwise he'd drown.

  
As his vision began to fade from lack of oxygen, Theon was suddenly overcome by the sight of all sorts of sea creatures, from the smallest of plankton to the largest whale, even creatures he had never seen nor heard of before, some small, others so large in the back of his mind Theon was sure only existed in the most wild of fantasies or the most terrifying of nightmares. As each image whirled through Theon's mind, he felt an unexplainable connection to them. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, only that he was all of a sudden _aware_ that they existed and where they lived.

  
One of the last things to happen as Theon gripped the trident was that he could suddenly breathe. Sucking in a deep breathe, he coughed and bubbles flew out of his mouth to rise to the surface of the water.

  
“What in Seven Hells...” muttered Theon, then startled when he realised he could speak underwater. As he pondered on that, Theon got a strange feeling that he was being watched by something that did not want to be seen.

  
“It in no coincidence that the trident has chosen a son of the sea, yet raised on the land,” said a deep, resonating voice with a strange, unfamiliar accent.

  
“Who said that?” questioned Theon, whirling around in the water as best as he could despite his hand being seemingly cemented to the trident.

  
“I've always thought that the trident was one of the finest pieces the Forge God made, not including Thunder's hammer and Creation's spear,” continued the voice, completely ignoring Theon's question. “It always had a better sense than I ever did at least.”

  
“What is going on here?” demanded Theon, now feeling more than a little angry.

  
“No doubt you have heard of gods walking amongst men in the forms of your adopted family and their cousin,” said the voice.

  
“Those tales are true?” exclaimed Theon.

  
“Well, maybe not the part where Jon Snow and the Mountain destroyed half of King's Landing in their brilliant clash, though they certainly did wreak havoc in many parts,” said the voice. “But I am the voice of the God of the Seas and Waters, and like your _true_ family, you have been selected as a vessel in which you will aid in the protection of the mortal realm against the God of Death.”

  
Theon let out a deep breath, which came out as a cloud of bubbles as he processed the information he was just given. Gods? Magic? What else?

  
“Take this trident and armour, and you will have command over all the seas and rivers in the mortal world, as well as reign king over all the water realm's inhabitants, be they man, beast or monster,” continued the voice.

  
It wasn't until the Sea God mentioned it that Theon realised his clothing (or rather, lack thereof) had been replaced by shining scale armour as gold as the trident in his hand, with sea-green gauntlets, leggings and boots. He felt stronger, much stronger than he had ever felt before as well. Theon looked at the trident, then, scowling deeply, he pulled at the trident with great force. The trident slipped out of the riverbed dirt as easily as a sword being unsheathed from its scabbard, and Theon had never felt suck power in his entire life.

  
“Go, tell your liege lord and his mother what has transpired, and urge them to return to the North,” said the voice of the Sea God.

  
“And what about me?” asked Theon.

  
“Go with them. But when the time is right, you must return to your birth land and challenge your father for the Salt Throne,” answered the voice. “It is time for the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros to unite under the banner of the God of Thunder to defeat the coming of the Long Night.”

  
Theon didn't quite understand what the Sea God meant, but he nodded his head anyway and turned towards the direction of Riverrun as he felt the Sea God's presence leave him. Another thing that he noticed was that he could see perfectly underwater: he could see the water grass growing at the bottom with many fish and crabs swimming in between the aquatic foliage, while above larger fish swam in schools. He could sense their instincts driving them to find food and shelter like they were his own emotions almost.

  
Theon pushed through the water, surprising himself when he moved through it as effortlessly as if he were walking on land, maybe even more easily. With smirk, Theon pushed himself even harder, cutting through the water with incredible speed. He quickly learned that he didn't even have to kick his legs or push his arms to swim, simply willing himself to move more than did the trick to allow himself to cut through the water like a shot arrow.

  
“This is incredible!” yelled Theon to nobody. He shot forward, propelling himself through the water towards Riverrun, and halfway there he shot vertically upwards to the surface. He broke the surface, breaching high into the air while his armour and trident caught the last rays of sunlight, making him glimmer brilliantly. As he dropped back down to the water, Theon aligned his body so that he dove back into the water perfectly, then shot off towards the castle.

  
Boy, Theon was going to have so much fun teasing Robb about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: a bit of a time jump, followed by a reconciliation between Jon and Catelyn, the beginnings of a war council to prepare for the Long Night, and a look into what's going on across the bay in Essos with our (debatably thanks to fookin' D&D) beloved Dragon Queen.


	6. Plans and Forges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised Daenerys this chapter, but it got too long and I had to split it in half! Tomorrow I'll upload the second half. ごめんね。

Jon was uneasy as he watched the lines of soldiers enter into Winterfell. Many of them looked tired from their long journey travelling from Riverrun up to the cold North, but it wasn't them he was worried about. He was worried about seeing Robb, Theon and Lady Stark again.

  
Apparently, Theon had become a god as well, having mastery over the seas and creatures within, gaining a magical trident and armour along the way as well. From what Jon had read in the letters sent to him over the last couple of months, Robb was displeased that he seemed to be the only one who had gained no unique abilities. Lady Stark had said nothing about the subject, having only expressed her desire to see her family reunited once more. Which led Jon to wonder whether or not she would be happy to see him in Winterfell again despite knowing who he really was now.

  
Jon glanced over at his family members out of the corner of his eye. Lord Star- Uncle Ned stood tall and proud like the lord he was, looking as grim as he was famous for, yet he had a sparkle in his eye that indicated his excitement to see his wife and oldest son again. Bran sat in a chair next to Uncle Ned, seeing as he was crippled while little Rickon clutched his father’s good leg tightly. Arya, clad in dark breeches that made her look like she belonged in the Night's Watch, looked impatient standing in between Bran and Sansa, though the dark circles under her eyes revealed the truth of her exhaustion. Jon stood at the very end, right next to and close to Sansa, dressed in regular furs similar to Uncle Ned’s attire.

  
Jon kept a close eye on Arya as the party continued to march in. Despite her protests, Arya was still much fatigued from transporting half her family across the entirety of Westeros, even though it had been almost two full moons since the ordeal. Jon and Sansa had taken it upon themselves to work together to nurse their sister back to health, and while Arya had loudly complained about it ever since she woke up almost a moon later, she was still in no state to actually do anything about her embarrassing situation.

  
In that time though Jon and Sansa had grown much closer than they ever had, working on healing the rift that had separated them for much of their childhood. But Jon didn't want to think about the way his eyes often lingered on her face for too long, or her hair, or the fact that they always sat next to each other during meal times.

  
Finally, Robb and his mother pulled into the courtyard atop their horses, wrapped in thick furs. Jon noted how Robb seemed older and his beard thicker, his face having seemed to have lost much of that joviality he was well known for. Lady Stark had changed little, though she appeared anxious to be back home again. Both of them slid off their steeds and practically sprinted over to their family, with Lady Stark rushing to meet Uncle Ned while Robb went to Bran first. Jon looked away awkwardly as Uncle Ned kissed his wife passionately, though his gaze fell upon Sansa, who looked teary-eyed as she looked upon her parents.

  
“That doesn't make you feel awkward?” he whispered in her ear.

  
“Oh hush, they're in love,” chided Sansa gently, though there was no bite to her tone. Jon shrugged, then grinned when Robb came and pulled Sansa into a tight hug, making her squeal slightly. Grey Wind came rushing in behind some soldiers, making the horses whinny in fright because of his large size. The direwolf rushed towards Summer and Shaggy Dog, yipping excitedly at being reunited with his younger siblings.  
Seeing the direwolves interacting made Jon wonder where Ghost was, but he assumed his albino wolf was off in the Wolfswood hunting.

Actually, it had been a few weeks since Jon had seen Ghost; he wasn't worried, but he wondered how large he'd grown, because last he'd seen his direwolf Ghost was taller than the largest horse, which was unnatural even by direwolf standards.

  
When Robb let go of Sansa, he turned to face Jon.

  
“You look bigger,” he said.

  
“That's what happens when you become the God of Thunder,” replied Jon. Indeed, Jon was now fairly taller than his cousin, standing almost half a head taller than him and much broader around the shoulders too. Robb shook his head in disbelief, but embraced Jon anyway. When Robb moved away, Jon was surprised to see Lady Stark standing there, waiting to greet him. Jon bowed his head low, not willing to meet her gaze until she beckoned him to rise.

  
“Thank you, for saving my husband and daughters,” she said in a voice thick with emotion. Jon was surprised to see tears in her eyes instead of the usual coldness there.

  
“I er... it was nothing, My Lady,” said Jon. “It was Arya who brought us back.”

  
Lady Stark pursed her lips as if she was about to protest, but instead she nodded her head. “Regardless, House Stark owes you a great debt for your bravery,” she said.

  
“I was only helping the people I love,” said Jon.

  
“Oh, for Seven's sake Jon, take the bloody compliment!” laughed Robb.

  
To Jon's surprise yet again, Lady Stark gave him a small smile before walking away.

  
“She's still adjusting to the fact that you're not Father’s bastard,” said Robb.

  
“How many people know the truth about me?” asked Jon.

  
“At this point, half the Seven Kingdoms,” answered Robb. “The Lannisters and Baratheons will be desperate to remove you as a threat to their claim to the Iron Throne, and you have family in Essos who may have heard of your adventures by now also. But whatever you decide, whether it be to take the Iron Throne or stay here, House Stark will support you.”

  
“We have larger problems to think about,” said Jon.

  
Robb's face grew serious as he nodded slowly. Uncle Ned sighed deeply, then had the servants disperse to attend to their duties while slowly leading the reunited family of Starks inside the keep.

  
“Holy mother of-“ gasped Arya. Jon looked at his little cousin before following her gaze, and he felt his jaw drop open.

  
Theon was approaching the waiting Starks and Jon, a smug look on his face. He was wearing thick furs like the rest of them, but underneath Jon could make out gold armour modelled to appear like golden fish scales. His eyes were an unnatural shade of yellow, glowing ever so slightly. Jon could also see the beginnings of tattoos on Theon’s neck, which made him wonder about Lady Stark's opinion on that. Most impressive of all was the golden trident in his hand: It was tall and slender, though sturdy in design and the three prongs on the end looked sharper than Valyrian steel. It stood over a head and a half taller than Theon, but it otherwise seemed like a powerful weapon.

  
“Well, this will be interesting to hear,” muttered Sansa, making Arya snort with laughter.

* * *

  
Gathered inside the war room, surrounding the table were all the Starks besides Bran and Rickon, Jon and Theon. They were all looking at a detailed map of Westeros, including the larger settlements of the lands beyond the Wall. While it was certainly not Aegon's Painted Table that was in Dragonstone, it still made for an impressive sight.

  
It was now almost three days after Robb, Lady Stark and Theon's return to Winterfell, but Jon couldn't put this off any longer. They needed to plan, and with four beings with the powers of gods all loyal to House Stark, they needed to prepare the North for the return of the God of Death.

  
Robb and Lady Stark looked decidedly uncomfortable, being the only two present who had not had experience with this kind of thing for an extended period of time like Uncle Ned had. Lord Stark himself stood on one end of the table, with Lady Stark at his side, while Robb stood with Theon, and Jon was flanked on either side by Sansa and Arya. They were all looking at Jon, expecting him to take the lead on this council.

  
“As you all know, there are those among us with extraordinary powers gifted to us by the gods to lead the fight against the Long Night,” began Jon. His voice was low and deep, making his Northern accent thicker. “We should take a bit of time acquainting each other on our abilities first. I will start.

  
“I was chosen by the God of Thunder, the most powerful god after his father, Creation. The Thunder God gifted me his hammer, Mjolnir, which gives me control over the weather, such as creating thunderstorms.”

  
“Don’t forget the part where you are the best fighter out of all of us,” said Arya quickly.

  
“There's that too,” said Jon. “I can also fly, have increased strength and durability, speed and amplify the powers of other people like me foe a short amount of time if I desire.”

  
“I need an ale,” muttered Robb. “Is there anything else about you we should know before we move on?”

  
“Um...” Jon glanced at Sansa, who only shrugged. “Only the worthy can lift Mjolnir and gain access to my powers as well.”

  
When nobody said anything, Jon looked at Arya expectantly. She rolled her eyes before coughing to get everyone's attention.

  
“I suppose I'm next then,” she started off. “Well, I was chosen by the God of Shadow, which means I can sneak anywhere dark, turn invisible, talk to creatures of the night and transport myself and others anywhere instantly. I'm also rather talented with a dagger and spear.”

  
“Little assassin,” commented Theon wryly, earning a glare from Lady Stark which made him shut up.

  
“I was chosen by the Goddess of Spring,” said Sansa, jumping in. “I can talk to and command all animals, grow and control plant life, communicate to anyone through the wind and heal wounds.”

  
“Heal wounds?” said Jon in surprise. This was a first for him.

  
“I only found out when we escaped King's Landing,” explained Sansa. “Father's leg wasn't healing fast enough, and when I touched it he was suddenly better.”

  
“Huh,” was all Jon was able to say in regards to that. He thought that particular skill would be very useful in the coming wars.

  
“And that leaves Theon,” said Arya. Everyone turned their attention to Theon now, who looked uncomfortable being the centre of attention, a trait foreign to the Greyjoy.

  
“Well, I was chosen by the God of the Seas,” he said. “I can breathe underwater, swim faster than anything else, greater strength and durability, command sea life and the oceans to do my bidding, and I have a trident.”

  
Everyone stared at Theon for a long time, waiting for more, but he kept silent.

  
“Is that it?” asked Robb.

  
“I have not had my powers as long as everyone else so I haven't had time to fully explore them,” replied Theon.

  
“Well, you're going to have a hard time doing that in Winterfell. You're about as far away from the ocean as you can get,” scoffed Arya.

  
“I can still take you on in a fight,” snapped Theon.

  
“Would you like to test that?” challenged Arya.

  
“Enough!” yelled Uncle Ned, speaking for the first time that meeting. “We will not get anywhere with our bickering!”

  
“Lord Stark is right,” said Jon. “The Long Night is coming, and we must be as prepared as we can be if we are to win this war.” He looked down at the map and sighed. “While Robert Baratheon was here, I left to travel beyond the Wall to get an understanding of what we are up against. I was gone for several moons, talking with many of the Free Folk who had been forced from their lands in order to escape the Others.”

  
“So they are real?” asked Lady Stark.

  
Jon nodded his head. “And as deadly as the Thunder God warned me about. I found a lot of Free Folk gathering at the Frost Fangs-“ he pointed to a specific spot on the map to show the others, “- who are being led by a man called Mance Rayder, their elected King Beyond the Wall.”

  
“Mance Rayder?” said Uncle Ned. “I've heard his name a few times. He was a deserter of the Night's Watch.”

  
“And now he is leading close to a hundred thousand wildlings south to siege the Wall and escape into our lands to flee the God of Death and its armies,” said Jon.

  
“You spoke with him?” asked Robb.

  
“Yes. The wildlings will be waiting for as long as they can before migrating down to the Wall. They plan on making a stop to Hardhome where many of their women and children will be staying while the rest try to secure passage South of the Wall,” said Jon.

  
“Will they try to take it by force?” asked Lady Stark.

  
“Only if they have to,” said Jon.

  
Theon snorted. “If they try, we will push them back,” he declared.

  
“We won't let it get to that point Greyjoy,” said Jon forcefully. “The more dead that are left South of the Wall, the more for the Others' army. And the more dead raised, the stronger the God of Death will become until its too strong for any of us.”

  
“You propose to bring the wildlings into our lands?!” exclaimed Robb. “They have been our enemies for centuries!”

  
“They are no longer our enemies. The only enemy that matters is the Dead,” said Jon. “We need to summon all the Lords of the North to Winterfell and tell them what is coming.”

  
“They'll never believe us,” said Uncle Ned.

  
“Yes they will, we have four gods here to convince them,” said Arya.

  
“Be that as it may, if this is a battle against the Living and the Dead, we will need the entirety of Westeros under one banner,” said Lady Stark.

  
“The realm is divided up against numerous kings, they'll never willingly work together unless forced to,” said Robb.

  
“Maybe they will if they all unite under the one true king,” said Sansa, and Jon scowled at the pointed look she was giving him.

  
“Jon?” said Uncle Ned.

  
Jon said nothing for a long time as he thought about Sansa's implication. The realm was divided, it was true. If the petty squabbles for the Iron Throne continued, there wouldn't be enough left to defend against the God of Death anyway. But if Jon did try to press his claim, with his powers and the assistance of the other gods on his side the war could be over quickly with minimal bloodshed. But there would be bloodshed, that was inevitable, and Jon wanted to spare as much life as possible.

  
“If the realms are to be united under one king, it needs to be the right king,” said Jon finally.

  
“And that king is you,” said Sansa in a determined voice.

  
“I never wanted it,” replied Jon. “I still don't want it.”

  
“But you were the first person chosen to fight on the gods' behalf, and so far the only person this side of the Wall to have seen the true enemy,” said Uncle Ned. “You are the best qualified for the Iron Throne.”

  
“Not many people will accept me as their king,” protested Jon.

  
“I don't think many people will argue against you once they see you swing that hammer of yours,” said Robb lightly. “Which, I might add, I have yet to see.”

  
Jon sighed, ran his fingers through his dark hair before finally nodding. “Very well. I will press my claim, but we will need physical proof of my heritage, and a bigger army,” he said heavily.

  
“Let me handle that. But what did you have in mind?” asked Uncle Ned.

  
Jon stared back at the map again and thought deeply. “I first came across the Others and their army here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map that was much further North. “This is where their main force is located, but they are moving at a pace that might take them a few years at the most to reach the Wall. However, there are hundreds of smaller raiding parties closer that are harassing the Free Folk settlements, especially in the Haunted Forest and near the Fist of the First Men.

  
“The North and its lords need to be focussed entirely on preparing for Winter and manning the Wall.”

  
“What kind of preparations?” asked Sansa.

  
“Glass gardens, training more troops, things like that,” answered Jon. “We will also need to find a place with lots of dragonglass. Many records indicate that the Others' have a weakness for it, and the Free Folk tell me that the wights can only be killed by dragonglass and fire.”

  
“What about my trident?” asked Theon.

  
“If your trident is like my hammer, then it will do the job as well,” assured Jon.

  
“And the South?” asked Lady Stark.

  
“I will travel to Essos to meet my aunt Daenerys and uncle Viserys,” said Jon. “We will use their armies to fight the war in the South.”

  
“My spies told me that Viserys is dead and that Daenerys has hatched three dragons from eggs,” said Uncle Ned.

  
Jon's eyes widened. “Well... that's good,” he said. When Sansa gave him a funny look, he realised what he might have implied and added, “About the dragons, I mean. It's sad that my uncle is dead but- okay I’ll shut up now.”

  
Robb, Arya and Theon snorted in laughter at Jon's embarrassment, while Uncle Ned and Lady Stark did better to hide their amusement, though they were still grinning as Jon felt his face heat up. Sansa looked exasperated, but she had a twinkle in her eyes that showed her humour.

  
“The dragons will still be very young,” Uncle Ned pointed out. “They won't be large enough for combat yet.”

  
“I'll cross that bridge when I get to it,” said Jon.

  
“I might be able to help with that,” said Sansa. When everyone looked at her, she continued. “One of Jon's powers includes boosting the strength of anything magical. He was able to give Arya enough power to transport four people across the entire continent back home, and I have noticed that Ghost has grown significantly larger over the last three moons.”

  
“What are you getting at?” said Arya impatiently.

  
“I mean that maybe Jon's power is making his direwolf grow larger than normal, the same way he can amplify our powers, but more passively,” said Sansa. “He's already larger than a direwolf should be, so it stands to reason that Jon might be able to help the dragons grow faster as well.”

  
Everyone looked thoughtful at that, and even Jon hadn't considered that theory.

  
“It's plausible,” he muttered thoughtfully, then looked out the window. It was dark out, which meant that they had been talking for a very long time now and it was getting late. Jon said as much and everyone broke away to go about their own business while Jon stayed in the war room alone, thinking.

* * *

  
Down in the Winterfell forge, Gendry Waters was busy making himself at home by repairing some of the weapons used in the recent battles between the North and the Lannisters. He was still getting used to the cold, but being in a hot sweaty forge with roaring fires certainly helped keep the permanent chill at bay.

  
Gendry wondered how he had gotten into this strange situation with the Starks. First, they had surprised him by coming into the forge he worked at in King's Landing, having just escaped Lord Stark's trial and apparent execution, begging for help. He had agreed, but then they told him he had to come with them otherwise he'd die. Next thing he knew, he had been on a wild goose chase through the city, avoiding Jon literally throwing the infamous Ser Gregor through buildings and getting crushed by falling debris. Even more mad to think about was that both Stark daughters had incredible power as well, with the youngest taking the entire group all the way to Winterfell in seconds.

  
Gendry shook his head. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes he would have told people they were mad. Often, he would see Jon Snow fly off into the sky somewhere with that magical hammer of his, lightning trailing behind him, or witness Sansa Stark surrounded by animals other than those great direwolves. He would sometimes also see Arya Stark vanish and reappear in a cloud of shadows, scaring just about everyone who got in her way.

  
As Gendry thought about all these things while hammering away at a sword, a large, robust man entered the forge.

  
“Can I make a commission?” asked the man in a deep baritone voice.

  
Gendry paused his work and said, “If you have the coin.”

  
“I have plenty to spare, don't worry child,” chuckled the man. Gendry took the man's appearance in. He was tall, the top of his head almost touching the ceiling beams and almost as wide, but it was all muscle from what Gendry could see. His hair was black as coal and eyes a strange molten colour, like liquid metal waiting to be shaped. He had a great big beard as dark as his hair and plaited down the middle, and he was clad in thick leather. Despite his enormous size, the man gave off a cheery and harmless demeanour.

  
“What would you like made?” asked Gendry.

  
“A god,” answered the man.

  
Gendry whirled around, feeling his eyes widen. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you another of them beings that keep giving people magic powers?”

  
“One of them,” said the man. “I am the God of Forgery, but you may simply call me Forge.”

  
“Forge,” repeated Gendry. He watched as the alleged god inspected the forgery, his molten eyes wandering around the shop. Every now and again he would pick up a piece of weaponry or armour, turn it around in his hands then give a grunt before setting it back down and continuing on. Gendry wasn't sure how to act around Forge: it was clear that being a god, Gendry had to treat him with more respect than even the king, but how does one do that exactly?

  
“Stop fidgeting boy,” boomed Forge. Gendry instantly straightened up and placed his hands at his sides tightly. “Your work is impressive,” continued Forge as he lifted up Gendry's personal warhammer like it was nothing.

  
“It's no Mjolnir,” replied Gendry modestly, “but I try my best.”

  
“I was actually not the one who made Mjolnir,” said Forge. “The greatest weapons in the universe are forged by the dwarves who dwell in the Fires of the Valyrian Doom. I was merely a student of theirs’, charged with creating the armours and some weapons of the gods.

  
“But I have come to offer you the chance to learn from me, to make weapons and armour like likes of which have never been seen,” continued Forge. “I will show you how to forge Valyrian steel, make weapons that run on the magic that flows through the earth's core, craft armours that will protect you from even the might of the God of Death itself!”

  
“How?” asked Gendry.

  
“Come here,” ordered Forge. Gendry walked over and stood directly in front of the Smithing God, who completely dwarfed him. Forge placed an enormous hand on Gendry's shoulder, which felt warm to the touch. That warmth spread through Gendry's body, and his mind was suddenly enlightened by knowledge on how to make _everything_. It was unbelievable, Gendry automatically walked over to the forge and picked up his tools, then quickly went to work.

  
If the Starks wanted him to help prepare, he would do his damned best. But first, he needed some armour of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll get our look at Dany, and the Starks prepare for Winter while Jon and Arya travel South again, this time to meet with the other contenders for the Iron Throne.


	7. Proclamations Everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that I was gonna post this immediately after the last chapter, but thing happened and I had to deal with them.

Daenerys Targaryen looked back at her army of Unsullied from her horse and smiled. A few weeks ago, she had nothing but her dragons, Ser Jorah and a khalasar of starving refugees. Now, she was the leader of eight-thousand of the world's deadliest soldiers and freed slaves, marching on to conquer the latest slave city to catch her ire: Yunkai.

  
It took a few more days to reach the city, and much planning with her advisors before they came to the conclusion that they needed to treat with the master of Yunkai to offer terms. While Dany didn't particularly like it, she knew it was the only way to get an idea on what sort of enemy she was dealing with. Originally Dany had thought it would be easy to take Yunkai, as the city was made to train sex slaves and the like. But then Sers Barristan and Jorah dispelled that notion.

  
Eventually though, Dany sent for one of the masters of Yunkai, a man named Razdal mo Eraz. He was a tall, if rather plain-looking man draped in expensive silks and wearing far too many oils and perfumes. Throughout the entire talk Dany had to resist the urge to crinkle her nose in disgust at the smell. And it quickly became clear that she wasn't getting anywhere with the man. Razdal was filled with far too much pride in his ancestry to bow down to Dany's demands, offering her bribes of gold and treasure and even threatened her with his supposed ‘powerful friends.’ Her dragons didn't like that, and managed to frighten Razdal.

  
Dany was about to send Razdal away when he glanced at Drogon, her largest black dragon.

  
“And what of your alleged nephew already in Westeros?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the hissing Drogon.

  
“My nephew?” repeated Dany in confusion.

  
“Jon Targaryen, the Stormcaller and trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark as the reports name him,” iterated Razdal. “They say he posed as one of the great Northern lord's bastard to escape Robert Baratheon's notice, and after he died he came out into the open, declaring himself the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

  
“Ned Stark's bastard?” both Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan exclaimed at the same time.

  
“You know the man of who he speaks of?” said Dany to her advisors.

  
“I’ve met him once, Your Grace,” said Ser Jorah. “He was a little boy then, and by this point in time he would be slightly older than you are now. Seemed the quiet type as bastards are prone to be, and looks just like Lord Stark, even at that age.”

  
“I've never met him myself, but the one stain on Ned Stark's honour is known throughout all of Westeros,” added Ser Barristan, who looked highly disturbed at the news.

  
“The Usurper's dog, harbouring a Targaryen, the family he helped overthrow?” scoffed Dany. “An obvious lie.”

  
“I would not be so sure,” said Ser Barristan. “Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark after the tourney in Harrenhal, it was what started Robert's Rebellion in the first place. There are many rumours as to why he took her, but whether he loved the girl or not, it is likely that a child could have been conceived in that time.” The old knight then seemed to age ten years right there and then. “Gods, it makes sense too. Ned Stark never seemed the type of man to dishonour his wife, no matter who would try to tempt him. Robert's hate for your family was legendary, and of course Lord Stark would try to protect his own kin.”

  
“You believe this rumour Ser?” questioned Dany.

  
“There is no reason to discount it just yet, Your Grace. But the timeline and reasons make sense,” answered Ser Barristan.

  
Now Dany wasn't feeling so sure anymore. She looked at Razdal with narrowed eyes and said, “what else do you know of this Jon Targaryen?”

  
“I've received reports that he is the greatest warrior the world has ever seen,” said Razdal. “He wields the hammer that fell from the sky near Winterfell, and is said to be the most powerful being alive. He rescued Lord Stark and his daughters when Joffrey Baratheon ordered the man to be executed, and fought the Mountain to a standstill before escaping.”

  
“This sounds like a wild tale spun by crazed smallfolk,” scoffed Ser Jorah. “Surely none can believe this?”

  
“The Mountain acquired a sword that granted him immense strength, even more than what he already possesses,” said Ser Barristan. “I saw him throw an entire wagon filled with supplies across a large field, and level a whole tower with his bare hands myself.”

  
“And this Jon Targaryen fought the monster to a standstill?” questioned Dany.

  
“Many strange things have been heard coming from your homeland,” answered Razdal.

  
“And why do they call him Stormcaller?” asked Ser Barristan.

  
“He uses the hammer to command the very skies to do his bidding, summoning great storms and hurling thunderbolts at his foes like some kind of god,” said Razdal. “Even now he calls for the Seven Kingdoms to bend the knee and swear fealty to House Targaryen, uniting them under the one true king of Westeros.”

  
Dany frowned. She had a possible nephew already in Westeros rallying the houses to his cause. But what cause was that? To conquer the Seven Kingdoms as Aegon the First once did? Or was there some other reason?

  
“I have one other thing to offer,” said Razdal, filling the silence. He reached into his robes and pulled out a letter, sealed with the sigil of House Stark. Dany tentatively broke the seal and began to read.

  
_To Queen Daenerys of the House Targaryen,_

  
_I hope this letter finds you well, and it may come as a surprise to you learning of who sends this. If you have not heard the rumours by now, allow me to inform you._

  
_I am Jon, formerly known by the bastard name of Snow, and your nephew. For the past nineteen years I have been sheltered by my lord uncle Eddard Stark in Winterfell, under the guise of his bastard son. In truth, I am actually the last surviving son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, the heir to the Iron Throne. I did not know of this until over a year ago, under circumstances that you might not believe. But seeing as you have brought living dragons back into the world, anything is possible._

  
_Know that any stories you may have heard about me, no matter how ridiculous or impossible they may seem, are true. I intend to meet you in six moons' time to prove my intentions to you. There is a war coming, and I need your help to win it. I will help you come home, where we can be a family again._

  
_I also offer my condolences for the death of your brother, my uncle Viserys. I did not know him but I still feel for the loss of one of my kin._   
_Keep your eyes on the skies in six moons' time. I will see you then._

  
_Your nephew,_

  
_Jon Targaryen, the Stormcaller, First of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realms._

  
_PS- are you as beautiful as they say? I'm asking for a friend._

  
Dany put the letter down, her frown lessening significantly. She handed it to Ser Jorah, who read it with a scowl on his face.  
“Why would this boy want you to look to the skies?” the knight questioned.

  
“It seems this Jon Targaryen is one for the theatrics,” commented Ser Barristan after he too read the letter. He then gave Dany a warm smile. “It must run in the family,” he added.

  
Dany certainly couldn't deny that.

* * *

  
It was several months of waiting before Jon and the Starks began to see the fruits of their labours. The lords of the North had gathered at Winterfell per Ned's request, and while they were slow to see reason at first, demonstrations of Jon's power had caused them to see reason, and they all swore fealty to the Targaryen king raised in the North. Ravens had been sent all across the Seven Kingdoms, declaring Jon Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne along with demands that they agree to meet with him and bend the knee. While it certainly wasn't subtle, it had worked... sort of.

  
The Riverlands and the Vale, being already tied to House Stark, had declared their support for Jon, and their lords were currently on their way to swear fealty to Jon. But the other four kingdoms had been silent for a while with the exception of Joffrey, who had openly insulted Jon and challenged him to battle against the Mountain again. While the other kingdoms eventually responded, several of them were more or less the same as Joffrey's letter. The Westerlands of course had declared for Joffrey, the Stormlands and the Reach for Renly Baratheon, and Stannis Baratheon called Jon a pretender who would die. The only kingdom not in open rejection of Jon's claim was Dorne, who had sent a raven expressing their desire to meet with the Thunder God.

  
All of these politics had tired Jon, though Uncle Ned and Lady Stark had both done their best to help him. Even though all these lords wanted to meet him, they would not get a chance to for a long time, because he and Arya had planned on travelling to confront the opposing kings and convince them of the true threat beyond the Wall. Even if he had to set his little sister upon them.

  
Currently, Jon was out in the courtyard, wearing his sleeveless shirt that usually went under his armour to reveal his thick, sinewy arms while he carried crates of steel too heavy for a normal man to lift by himself, let alone the fact that Jon was carrying one in each arm. He was heading to the forge with Theon, who was also carrying the same kind of crates next to him. All this was in preparation for his imminent departure with Arya later that day.

  
Gendry had recently revealed that he had become the God of Forges, giving the knowledge and capability to create just about anything, even Valyrian steel. He had proven it by showing them a suit of armour made almost entirely out of the incredibly strong metal, but it was unlike anything anyone had ever seen.

  
As Jon walked into the forge and set down the two crates, he looked over at the armour. It was smooth and streamlined yet simple, designed to fit to Gendry's body perfectly, with the smokey-ripple patterns swirling through the Valyrian steel. The armour had no parts to it that allowed for it to be disassembled, instead seeming to appear to be one humanoid replica made of a single large chunk of Valyrian steel. The only non-humanoid part of the armour was the helmet. It looked more like a faceless rectangular block with two black eye holes, but the true magic lay in the use of the armour. Gendry had created a perfect weapon: the eye holes could expand to create a larger space where beams of super-hot energy could shoot out of, incinerating anything unlucky enough to get in the way. Those same beams of energy could project out of the palms of the armour's hands, and to a lesser extent the soles of the feet to allow Gendry the ability to fly. It also granted the young blacksmith incredible strength and durability.

  
Jon spotted Gendry working at the forge, crafting small Valyrian steel daggers while Arya looked on, twirling another dagger of her own between her fingers. Jon shook his head ruefully before following Gendry out of the forge, before parting ways to find Ghost. His albino direwolf was enormous now, he was now the size of a small house with a head large enough to swallow a grown man whole. Most people stayed away from Ghost, who spent most of his time patrolling the perimeter of Winterfell, though Jon and the Starks remained unafraid of him.

  
Right now, Ghost was resting against the western outer wall, his eyes closed and his breaths shooting up snow. The enormous wolf lifted up his huge head when Jon approached, his large blood red eyes boring into the Thunder God's soul seemingly.

  
“Hello boy,” said Jon affectionately as he sat down and leaner back against Ghost's paw. “I'm sorry that we haven't had much time together. Being king is a burden.”

  
Ghost let out a deep huff of air to show his disapproval of recent events, but his eyes seemed to give off an air of understanding most animals weren't intelligent enough to show. The two companions stayed that way for some time until Arya appeared in front of them in a burst of shadow. She was dressed in dark leathers with more Valyrian steel daggers strapped to her person than was considered necessary, he also noticed the small pole slung across her back, the purpose of which Jon didn't even want to begin to comprehend just yet.

  
“The lords are all waiting for us to depart,” she said.

  
Jon sighed and pushed himself up onto his feet, and Ghost followed suit to tower over them, the tips of his ears just below the tall walls. The great wolf shadowed the two gods as they walked back inside Winterfell, where sure enough, all the lords of the North had gathered to see them off. Many of them eyed Ghost warily as he ducked his huge head to fit under the gate, though Jon paid them no mind as he approached the gathered Starks, who were all standing at the front. He approached Bran and Rickon first, ruffling their hair and kissing their foreheads affectionately before moving on. No words were spoken between himself and Lady Stark, both being merely content with nodding once before Jon moved on to Robb.

  
“Hopefully the next time I see you, you'll have the whole Seven Kingdoms behind you,” said Robb lightly, though his smile was tight. Jon felt for Robb. He knew that the Stark heir felt left out that he was seemingly the only one not chosen by the gods and given special powers, but had managed to continue to carry himself with grace and honour. Gendry had given Robb a Valyrian steel sword and shield as a gift however, though the shield was imbued with magic so that whenever Robb threw it like a disc, the shield would always return back to him. The fact that it was made out of a combination of Valyrian steel and Uru, the metal from which Mjolnir was made of made the shield almost indestructible.

  
Jon smiled at his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'll be expecting you riding by my side with that fancy sword and shield of yours,” he joked. He then pulled Robb into a tight hug, patting him on the back before pulling away to stand in front of his lord uncle.

  
“Take care of yourselves, Arya especially,” said Uncle Ned. “She may be a goddess now, but she still has the wolf's blood running through her, and it might get you both in trouble.”

  
“I promise, my lord,” said Jon.

  
“Do you have the documents with you? The lords will never believe you if don't have them,” asked Uncle Ned.

  
“I have them,” said Jon. Uncle Ned nodded and looked Jon over.

  
“Your mother would be proud of you,” added Uncle Ned. “You've grown into a fine young man, and you'll make a great king.”

  
Jon had no words for that, so instead he nodded his head and embraced his uncle, the man he considered to be his true father, regardless of who his real father was. Lastly was Sansa, who looked to be holding back tears as she stared up at him.

  
“Take care of them all, will you?” asked Jon. “Especially Robb, the lad gets into more trouble than he needs to whenever I'm gone.”

  
“I will,” promised Sansa. She looked like she wanted to say more, but it seemed that the words caught in her throat. Jon understood what she was trying to say though and smiled softly. Jon had come to accept that the way he felt for Sansa was not the same as the way he felt for the rest of the Starks. He often caught himself staring at her the same way Uncle Ned would look at Lady Stark. Perhaps, once this was all over, he would talk to the Lord of Winterfell and seek permission to properly court Sansa.

  
“Jon,” said Arya behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, she added, “It's time.”

  
Jon took a deep breath and sighed, then stepped away from Sansa to stand next to Arya. He raised a hand, and Mjolnir flew right into it, and at the same time a lightning bolt fell from the sky and struck him, bathing him in light before fading. He was now in his complete armour, his dark cape billowing in the wind.

  
“I bid you farewell and good luck,” he said, before shadow surrounded himself, Arya and Ghost, and in a split second, the three of them were now in the Stormlands, and not far away, an enormous army was camped not far away from Storm's End, the home of House Baratheon.

  
“That's a big army,” commented Arya.

  
“Indeed,” agreed Jon. Ghost huffed, seemingly unimpressed at the large force gathered and sat on his haunches.

  
“So, how do you propose we do this?” asked Arya.

  
“Well, I suppose we could...” Jon trailed off and frowned. Sansa and Lady Stark had drilled into him every day what he needed to talk about, but they never told him how to go about it.

  
“You don’t have a plan, do you?” stated Arya.

  
“I have... eleven percent of a plan,” said Jon.

  
“That's not even a plan!” snapped Arya.

  
“Well forgive me for never sitting in on the lessons your father always taught Robb and Theon!” argued Jon.

  
“We're going to die,” grumbled Arya.

  
Ghost let out a snort in agreement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just think of Gendry's armour being a cross between the Destroyerfrom the first Thor movie with Iron Man's abilities. Also, Ghost is about the same size as Fenris from Thor Ragnarok.
> 
> Next chapter: Jon and Arya treat with Renly Baratheon and the Tyrells, then Stannis Baratheon.


	8. The Negotiations Were Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically Arya being a smartass this chapter while Jon sits there and laughs at the insulted lords and ladies. And other stuff as well.

The numerous soldiers watched Jon and Arya, their hands on the pommels of their swords as the duo walked through the combined Baratheon and Tyrell camp. There were many whispers about their weapons and armour, though none dared to say anything to their faces. Jon felt slightly conscious of all the attention on him, he'd have thought that months of dealing with hardened Northern lords would have helped with that, but apparently not.

  
It certainly didn't help when Ghost decided to join them, his giant white body towering over the tallest tents in the camp. His presence had sent the soldiers into a panic until Jon and Arya calmed everyone down, and in retaliation for the incident Ghost ate an entire horse for the trouble. One of the captains had loudly complained about the loss of one of the horses, but the man was certainly not going to take up the issue with the wolf that was larger than some of the old Targaryen dragons.

  
Jon and Arya arrived at the centre of the camp, where a glamorous tent had been set up, Baratheon banners identifying it as Renly Baratheon's personal tent. Two knights stood at the door, though it turned out one of them was a woman, taller than Jon and just as wide around the shoulders. The smaller knight went inside, and Jon heard him announce to the lords inside of the Northerners’ arrival. The knight then returned and parted open the flaps of the tent, though Jon told Ghost to stay outside.

  
The tent was lavishly furbished with the finest materials, a little too much if Jon was being honest with himself. Inside was Lord Renly, his wife Margaery, Lord Mace Tyrell and his son Loras, who was clad in armour with a sword strapped to his belt. Jon sensed Arya survey the room, discretely spreading her shadow to search for information they could use.

  
“My lords,” said Jon respectfully. “I thank you for your hospitality in allowing my cousin and I to visit you.”

  
“We are honoured to accommodate to members of House Stark among us,” replied Renly. “My brother and your father were friends, it was the two of them that held this realm together after the fall of the Targaryens.”

  
Jon sensed the slight, but decided to ignore it anyway in favour of earning the support of the Stormlands and the Reach. “You already know why we are here,” he said.

  
“I do,” said Renly. “Though I am surprised that the bastard son of Ned Stark would risk his own life to come to place surrounded by potential enemies.”

  
“Is that a slight against Jon?” snarled Arya. “He may have been raised by my lord father, and is a Stark in all but name, but he is the _rightful_ heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Now, if we are done measuring the size of your cocks against each other, can you let King Jon speak?”

  
“Arya please,” said Jon. The smaller girl scowled as the others looked insulted at Arya's bluntness, but she ceased, though the dark look she shot at Renly was enough to make the temperature in the tent drop slightly.

  
“So what is it that you want, _King_ Jon?” asked Renly, enunciating the word ‘king' mockingly. Jon sensed that no matter what he would say, Renly would not agree to anything.

  
“The kingdoms united,” he answered. “Your brother's rebellion over twenty years ago has caused a rift across the realm that has still not healed. I have come from hiding to rectify that wrong, but there is another threat far more dangerous on its way here.”

  
“Your niece in Essos?” questioned Lord Mace.

  
“What? No,” said Jon. He wondered where the Lord of Highgarden pulled _that_ from. “The threat I speak of comes from the North, beyond the Wall. The God of Death.”

  
Renly, Lord Mace and Loras openly laughed at Jon's words, and Lady Margaery tried her best to hide her smile.

  
“Do we speak of fanciful tales now, my lord?” scoffed Renly.

  
“If only that were true. I have journeyed into the Lands of Always Winter and seen and fought the Army of the Dead myself,” said Jon, his voice deepening as he grew more serious. “Wildlings are gathering together to escape the wrath of the Others, and plan to cross the Wall and escape the coming storm.”

"Yes, and the Dornish have begun practising their water magic after thousands of years!" Laughed Ser Loras.

  
“What proof do you have of these ‘Others?’” asked Lord Mace.

  
“None,” said Jon. “But I have other ways to prove my words are true.”

  
“Show us,” said Renly.

  
Jon stepped forward, turning Mjolnir upside down and placing it on a knee-high table. “This is my hammer, Mjolnir,” he began. “Over two years ago it fell from the sky and crashed into the square of Winter Town, near Winterfell. For months, nobody could lift it, not even Eddard Stark, the most honourable man in all of Westeros. When Robert Baratheon visited the North, a man approached me and suggested that I try lifting the hammer. I did, and gained the power to harness the very lightning of the gods. That man who visited me? He was the God of Thunder and I was named his champion against the God of Death.

  
“I challenge anyone here to try and lift the hammer now. Whosoever shall hold this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess my power.”

  
Renly did not hesitate and stood up from his chair before waltzing over to the table where Mjolnir awaited. He clasped the handle with his right hand, a smug smile on his face which quickly disappeared when the hammer didn't budge when he pulled. His brows furrowed together as he pulled harder, this time with two hands. He grunted and heaved with all his might, but no matter how hard he tried, Mjolnir remained fast where it rested.

  
Ser Loras and Lord Mace both tried as well, but received the same result. Frustrated, Ser Loras whined, “You have cast some kind of magic on it that allows only you to hold it!”

  
“Hm, yes, that's a very likely theory,” said Jon as he walked over to Mjolnir, “but I have a better one.” He lifted up the hammer easily and tossed it into the air. As he caught it he said, “You're all not worthy.”

  
Renly let out a chuckle while Ser Loras and Lord Mace sputtered indignantly and said cheerfully, “What a fascinating display! But it still does nothing to persuade me of any ‘Army of the Dead.’"

  
“Ah, I thought you might say that,” said Jon. “Outside there is a direwolf larger than any elephant or direwolf that has lived before it. I would even go so as to say that he is the Balerion of the wolves. You may go and see him after we have spoken, but rest assured he will not harm anyone or anything unless I order him to.

  
“And of course, my beloved cousin Arya, the chosen champion of the God of Shadow,” he finished. Arya stepped forward and vanished, appearing right next to Lady Margaery and making her squeal in fright. Arya vanished again and reappeared next to Jon before casting tendrils of shadow out from her body to envelop the stunned lords before them. Arya then pulled back her shadows with a grin on her face.

  
“By the Seven, you do have extraordinary power,” gasped Lord Mace. “And you, Your Grace?”

  
“My power is too destructive to perform inside the confines of a tent, my lord,” said Jon, “but rest assured, I too have gifts.”

  
“Incredible,” remarked Renly. “Gods amongst men!”

  
Renly stood up, Lady Margaery joining him and the two approached Jon and Arya. Arya stiffened as Lady Margaery stopped in front of her, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

  
“It is indeed amazing to stand in the presence of people with extraordinary gifts, yet while I am convinced of the threat beyond the Wall, it does not prove anything about your birth,” continued Renly.

  
“That is why I brought these,” said Jon. He reached underneath his chestplate and pulled out several letters and documents, handing them over to Renly. Looking curious and amused, Renly read through the letters, his face growing more serious the more he read. He silently handed the letters to Lady Margaery when he was done, and she looked astonished by the time she was done and handed the papers to her father.

  
“By the gods, he really his a Targaryen!” exclaimed Lord Mace.

  
“Signed by the High Septon himself,” said Renly. “It appears that Jon, or should I say _Aegon_ Targaryen's story is true.”

  
“That's not my name,” sneered Jon. “My name is Jon Targaryen.”

  
“Of course, of course,” waved off Renly, seeming to be oblivious Jon's anger. “This does change things. What am I to do with the trueborn son of the man my brother killed?”

  
“My love, perhaps alliances could be made between our peoples?” suggested Lady Margaery.

  
“A good idea,” piped up Lord Mace.

  
“I am willing to broker an alliance between you and myself,” said Renly to Jon.

  
Jon shared a look with Arya, who looked as lost as he was. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  
“Well, for starters, if you help me take King's Landing, overthrow the Lannister bastard pretending to be my nephew and renounce your claim to the Iron Throne, I will gladly lend aid to the cause of the Living,” said Renly.

  
“Of course, we will give you Dragonstone, your ancestral home, and some marriage alliances between our great Houses will solidify our friendship for generations to come,” added Lady Margaery.

  
“Quite so,” said Renly enthusiastically. “My good-brother Willas is still as of yet unmarried, but your cousin Sansa would make an excellent bride to him. Or even Lady Arya here could marry my dear friend Loras here.”

  
Arya looked disgusted at marrying the young Tyrell knight, who seemed to share the same sentiment as he looked at her. Yet Jon's fists clenched tightly at the mention of Sansa being married to somebody else, especially a pompous Southron lord like the ones he had been talking to all afternoon.

  
Lady Margaery seemed to catch on to Jon's anger, because she said placatingly, “Of course, it is still too early for such things to be set in stone, we can talk about this later.”

  
Arya snorted loudly, drawing everybody's attention to her.

  
“I'm sorry, but I’ve heard from a lot of people that you're all a bunch of conceited douchebags, but now I know that isn’t true at all,” she said, then winked at Jon... with the wrong eye. Lord Mace's face turned red with indignation while Lady Margaery's smile tightened at the corners.

  
“Arya, wrong eye!” hissed Jon quietly.

  
“Oh, was it? I'm not very good at winking,” said Arya unapologetically. “As I was saying, it seems very presumptuous of you to make all the demands with very little profit for the North or Jon. You speak to us as if we were common people, when in actuality we are beings who were chosen by the gods themselves to lead the Seven Kingdoms.

  
“ _Lord_ Renly,” continued Arya, emphasizing the first word, “how many men are under your command?”

  
“One hundred thousand have pledged themselves to me,” said Renly through gritted teeth.

  
“Hm,” said Arya thoughtfully as she looked at Jon. “One hundred thousand against two gods and a giant wolf? What do you think, Your Grace?”

  
“I'd say the odds are pretty unfair for them,” said Jon, trying to hold in his laughter.

  
“Quite so, and not to mention the other two champions we have back at Winterfell, one of which was another Stark you just tried to sell like a common brood mare, and the other the heir to the Iron Islands, I'd say, and the fact that Renly Baratheon, being the second Baratheon still alive after his older brother Stannis, even if he has no real claim to the Iron Throne, has no real claim to said throne,” ranted Arya, her dark eyes narrowing victoriously as Renly looked completely flustered.

  
“My brother will not make a good king, nobody likes him” he argued.

  
“It doesn't matter if he will make a good king or if nobody likes him. This is not a popularity vote,” retorted Arya. “So, in conclusion, why are you contesting for the throne again?”

  
Nobody said anything, as deep down they all knew Arya was right. Jon ducked his head to hide his smile that was threatening to come out, and he shuffled on his feet for a few moments while waiting for one of the others to reply.

  
“I think,” spat Ser Loras, his face red with anger, “that in the future, Lady Arya should keep her mouth shut and respectful when in the presence of the rightful king!”

  
“Is that a threat?” questioned Arya with a raised eye. “Mayhaps Ser Loras would like to see what happens when he crosses the Goddess of Shadow?”

  
“We are not here to fight,” said Jon before the arguing could continue. “We came here to ask for assistance against the real threat and to make powerful alliances, but that will not happen if every man and his dog is vying for the Iron Throne.”

  
“It has been a long day,” said Renly. “Perhaps we will be more accepting after a good night's rest?”

  
“Agreed,” said Jon.

  
“Lady Brienne will escort you to your tent,” said Lady Margaery just as the big lady from earlier opened the tent flap.

  
“Thank you,” said Jon. “Come Arya.”

* * *

  
It was several days later since their arrival, and they had gotten nowhere with Renly. He was stubborn and consistently insisted that his cause was just, refusing to bend the knee. On more than one occasion Arya had mentioned that it was Ser Loras who was whispering in Renly's ear, having noted to Jon how close they were to each other. Jon wondered if the two men were more than friends.

  
But on this particular day, they had been invited by Renly to meet with Stannis Baratheon, Renly's older brother. They were supposed to be peacefully coming to an agreement of sorts, but to Jon it seemed like nothing like a huge pissing contest between the two brothers. Renly was too confident in his abilities and popularity to the point of arrogance, while Stannis was rigid and unmoving in his supposed right to the throne. The only point that Jon even remembered was when Stannis and his Red Witch turned their attentions on him and Arya.

  
“And you, pretender,” sneered Stannis. “Why do you come here? You are nothing but the bastard of a man who almost got himself killed because of his bloody honour. But he has no honour, does he? Grooming his bastard to usurp his best friend's rule? May the Old Gods and the New curse you.”

  
“That's a shame, because I don't think a god can curse himself,” drawled Arya.

  
“Why does the wolf bitch speak?” snapped Stannis.

  
“I would choose my next words carefully if I were you, my lord,” said Jon lowly as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Because if my hammer does not get to you first, my cousin's daggers surely will.”

  
“I do not fear the words of a boy,” snapped Stannis. As he opened his mouth to continue his insults, there was a loud, deep growling. Over the crest of a hill, Ghost appeared, startling Stannis and his men. The gigantic wolf creeped down the hill to stand behind Renly's retinue, his fangs as long as swords bared ready for a fight.

  
“What about the snarl of a direwolf?” asked Jon.

  
“Why do you proclaim yourself as a god, Jon Snow?” asked the Red Witch, Melisandre. “For there is only one god, the Lord of Light.”

  
“I've heard about him, the Shadow God said that R’hllor was a fuckhead,” commented Arya.

  
“The Thunder God said the same thing to me,” said Jon. “He told me that ever since he helped win the first War for the Dawn, the Fire God has been acting like he owns everything.”

  
Melisandre looked absolutely stunned, while Stannis looked furious. “When the time comes, I will look for you on the field, Jon Snow,” he sneered before turning on his horse and riding away, his retinue following him.

  
“And to think, I used to love him,” said Renly sadly.

  
“He's still your brother,” said Jon.

  
“No longer,” said Renly.

  
After returning to the camp, that night, Renly invited Jon to his tent for a drink. Jon had accepted, even though his enhanced physiology made it almost impossible for him to get drunk. The two of them, plus Lady Brienne who stood guard at the tent's entrance, were mostly quiet as they drunk.

  
“Are you not worried about Stannis?” asked Jon.

  
“He has too few men to be any major threat to me,” said Renly carelessly. “Come tomorrow, my armies will crush his, and then we will move on King's Landing. Will you join me?”

  
“No,” said Jon. “I have to meet with the Martells in Sunspear, and then after that I must travel to Essos and bring my aunt and her dragons home.”

  
“Daenerys Targaryen?” questioned Renly. “I hear she's a great beauty. My brother wanted assassins sent to kill her, you know. But your lord uncle fought against that decision.”

  
“Ned Stark has always been a defender of children and infants, I'm living proof of that,” joked Jon. Then he looked at Renly more seriously. “You must not lay siege to King's Landing yet,” he warned. “Gregor Clegane has gained the powers of the God of Rage, making him a dangerous adversary.”

  
“I've seen him in action,” said Renly. “But I shall deal with him in time.”

  
“Renly, wait for me to return. Together, we can take the Lannisters. I'm the only one strong enough to kill the Mountain. I had to throw a building on top of him last time I fought him just to slow him down.”

  
“Relax, Your Grace. I have everything under control,” said Renly. He then stood up and went to stand in front of his mirror, smoothing out his fancy jerkin and brushing his hair back. As Jon took a long draught of his wine, a powerful gust of wind blew open the flaps of the tent, and Jon felt a strange coldness come over him. Something was not right.

  
He then saw a shadow slither along the ground and materialise behind Renly, who looked at his reflection with a mesmerized look.

  
“Renly move!” shouted Jon, and he summoned Mjolnir and threw it at the shadow. The hammer passed through the shadow harmlessly, and to his horror, it stabbed Renly through the back and into his heart. Renly coughed out blood before collapsing, and Jon mentally called for his sister. The shadow looked back between Jon and Lady Brienne before moving towards Jon.

  
“Dammit!” bellowed Jon, and he channelled lightning through Mjolnir before shooting it out towards the shadow. The shadow dispersed before reforming, and Jon noticed that it had Stannis's face before it lunged at him. Jon dodged the attack just as Arya popped into the tent, then startled at the shadow creature.

  
“What in Seven Hells is that?!” yelled Arya.

  
“I don’t know, kill it!” shouted Jon. Arya drew a dagger, shrouding it in shadow before throwing it. The blade, instead of passing through the shadow harmlessly like Mjolnir had, lodged itself into the shadow's neck, and the creature let out a horrific shriek that seemed to shake the tent. Arya then lunged at the shadow with another dagger that opened up like a razor-sharp fan and swung it, decapitating the creature and silencing it. The shadow dispersed permanently before it hit the ground, and the temperature inside the tent grew warmer again.

  
“Fuck,” muttered Jon as he walked over to Renly's corpse. Blood had soaked into the ground, wetting Jon's knees as he sunk onto them. Lady Brienne came over, tears coming down her eyes as she too dropped down.

  
“I'll go get Lady Margaery,” said Arya before vanishing.

  
Later that night, the whole camp knew of their king's assassination. Many blamed Renly's murder on Lady Brienne, who had to kill two knights in defence, while Ser Loras accused Jon and Arya, using the shadow monster and knowledge of Arya's powers to incite many to his side. Jon and Arya were able to diffuse the situation before more blood could be spilt, and by morning, when Stannis arrived, most of the Stormlands bannermen followed him. The last Baratheon king looked surprised to see Jon and Arya still alive, and confronted the two.

  
“You are still here,” he sneered.

  
“I heard the Stormlands are great this time of the year,” replied Jon. He then took a step forward so that only Stannis could hear. “I know it was you and your priestess who killed Renly. I name you kinslayer, the worst of them all.”

  
“You dare?!” roared Stannis, and he drew his sword then swung at Jon. Jon deflected the blow with his arm, the blade bouncing off the brace covering his forearm before he pushed Stannis in the chest, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The enraged Baratheon quickly stood up, his sword pointed towards Jon's heart, and Jon noticed the hand-shaped dent in Stannis's chestplate. He charged at Jon again, sword raised and swung again, and Jon easily dodged the strike.

  
Several of Stannis's soldiers charged at Jon in defence of their king, but Arya teleported around them, severing their Achilles’ tendons with two of her dagger, eliciting pained cries as they fell to the ground. Ghost came charging forward, growling menacingly which effectively stopped any other soldiers from coming to Stannis's aid.

  
“You cannot beat me!” said Jon loudly as he and Stannis circled each other. “Your shadow monster tried to kill me after it was finished with Renly , but your Red witch does not command the shadows, my sister does!”

  
“Shut up!” bellowed Stannis, swinging again at Jon, but again he deflected the blows with his bracers. Jon pushed Stannis down to the ground again, then summoned Mjolnir. The hammer flew all the way from his tent to his hand, startling Stannis's men so much they took a few steps back.

  
“Yield,” commanded Jon.

  
“I am the rightful king, I do not take orders from you!” snarled Stannis, getting up again to charge Jon. Jon lazily parried Stannis's strikes, then smacked him lightly but hard enough that his chestplate now had a larger dent in it. Stannis gasped for breath before he quickly removed it, then, in a strange display of magic, he sliced the palm of his hand with his sword, and the blade ignited into flame.

  
“Azor Ahai!” yelled somebody, and all of Stannis's men began chanting that same name over and over again.

  
“The Lord of Light has chosen me to save the world!” proclaimed Stannis.

  
“Get in line!” snapped Arya. Stannis ignored her and yet again attacked Jon, but in spite of his flaming sword, the results were much the same, ending with him on the ground. The cheering died down quickly after that, and to make sure that Stannis wouldn't attack again, Jon placed Mjolnir on the fallen man's chest, immobilising him. Stannis tried to lift the hammer off himself, but he couldn't and screamed in frustration.

  
“Get this thing off of me!” he roared.

  
“Only I can lift the hammer,” said Jon. “And I will not do it until you admit that you murdered Renly and yield the fight.”

  
“Never,” grunted Stannis.

  
“Very well,” said Jon. He then turned to the stunned Tyrells. “Which king will you turn to now? The kingslayer, or the false stag in King's Landing?”

  
Mace Tyrell didn't even hesitate as he dropped down on one knee and bowed his head. Lady Margaery quickly followed suit, as did Ser Loras, albeit slowly. All of the Reach soldiers followed their lieges, as well as most of the Stormlands lords and warriors, though most of the men loyal to Stannis stayed on their feet, swords at the ready.

  
From Stannis's men, the Red priestess Melisandre parted through to stand in front of Jon. Arya came closer, dagger at the ready until Jon waved her off, and he looked down on Melisandre.

  
“You are a peculiar man, Jon Targaryen,” said Melisandre in a mystifying voice.

  
“Woman! Why do you dare call the pretender by his false name?!” shouted Stannis from the ground.

  
“The Lord of Light has revealed to me that he is indeed the son of Rhaegar Targaryen,” answered Melisandre without taking her eyes off Jon.  
“Hush Stannis, the grown ups are talking,” mocked Arya.

  
“A child of Ice and Fire, and yet you wield the power of Thunder and Rain. Why?” asked Melisandre. “Why would the Lord of Light not choose you as his champion?”

  
“The Thunder God probably beat him to it,” said Jon dryly.

  
“You have king's blood in you, that much is certain,” said Melisandre. “It shall be useful for R'hllor's purposes.”

  
“Sorry, but I refuse to be a cult's saviour,” said Jon, and he pushed past Melisandre to stand over Stannis. “Do you yield?”

  
“I would rather die!” snarled Stannis.

  
“And leave your daughter fatherless?” asked Jon. That made Stannis pause. “Winter is coming, my lord, and I will need use of your military might.”

  
Stannis seemed thoughtful, before eventually nodding his head. Satisfied, Jon removed Mjolnir from his chest and turned away back towards Arya. But at the last second, he heard movement behind him and the yell of a man. He turned around just to see Stannis with his flaming sword raised, heading straight towards his head. He was going to get him.

  
Something whizzed past Jon's head, a closed fan that lodged right in Stannis's throat, spurting blood everywhere. He dropped his sword then clutched desperately at his neck to stem the bleeding. Jon turned around to see Arya, her hand still outstretched from throwing her fan blade. She flicked her wrist, and Jon turned to see the fan blade open up, slicing through the rest of Stannis's neck. Stannis let out a sick gurgling noise before his head rolled off his shoulders, landing in the dirt with a sick thud. Blood spurted like a red fountain from the stump where Stannis's head used to be, before the body dropped to the ground as well, twitching slightly as the nerves in the body slowly died.

  
Arya moved forward and picked up her fan blade, cleaned it on her jerkin then closed and sheathed it before moving back to stand at Jon's side. The crowd as silent as they stared at her and Jon, and before Jon could say anything the remaining soldiers knelt before him.

  
It was later that day, after all the lords of the Reach and Stormlands who were there had sworn fealty to Jon that he finally found time to be alone. He was sitting on top of the same hill he had first come from, the wind gently blowing his hair and cape. Jon reached out to the wind and whispered, “Sansa.”

  
Jon felt the wind respond to his call and surround him, and he knew that he had reached the eldest Stark daughter. “I have word from the Stormlands. Renly and Stannis Baratheon are both dead. Renly was murdered by Stannis using some kind of dark magic, and Arya killed Stannis earlier today trying to protect me. But both the Stormlands the Reach have sworn fealty to me, and I am sending them back to their own lands to prepare for their march North.

  
“Lord Mace Tyrell will be sending emissaries North to treat with your father, and I think one of them will be his daughter Margaery. She is an ambitious one who has already tried to make her advances on me even though her husband's body is not yet cold, but I will not be accepting her hand in marriage should her father propose it. Instead, I think you should tell your mother and father to consider Lady Margaery for Robb. They would be a good match for each other. However, I would advise caution around her if I were you, she is a lot smarter than she looks or acts.

  
“Arya, Ghost and I will be heading for Dorne in a sennight's time once everyone here has left to treat with the Martells and convince them to join our cause. I have heard of the Red Viper’s infamy, and Princess Arianne Martell's beauty and cunning, but I will report more on that later.”  
Jon paused as he struggled to find the right words to say next. “I uh... I miss you,” he said. “It is strange, I've only been away from Winterfell for a few days but I feel as though I have been gone for a lifetime. Does that make sense? I'm probably being overdramatic but... I look forward to seeing you again.”

  
When he couldn't think of anything else to say, Jon allowed the wind to carry his message away, feeling comfort that nobody would hear it except for Sansa. He took in a deep breath and watched the sun set over the camp, his mind relatively calm for the first time in many months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Jon, Arya and Ghost travel to Sunspear, and Theon is challenged by Euron for the Salt Throne.


	9. Salt and Fresh Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a couple of days. I had originally planned on posting this the day after chapter 8 but low and behold my computer stuffed up and I had to rewrite the chapter all over again. I'm a little disappointed in Theon's part especially because the first draft of it was so much better, but later on at some point I'll come back and fix it. For now though, ENJOY.

Theon stood to the side as his uncle Euron raved about his many travels and conquests. Many of the Iron captains gathered were listening to him with an attentive ear, which was concerning. There was no doubt that Euron was a skilled pirate: the Valyrian steel armour he wore and the battle axe he had slung over his back he claimed to have pilfered from the ruins of Valyria were proof enough of that. But his vision of conquering the Seven Kingdoms with the aid of Jon's aunt Daenerys and her dragons were cause for major concern.

  
The Sea God had warned Theon that Euron had acquired powers of his own through dark and unconventional means, and was planning on using those powers to enslave the known world motivated Theon to contest for the Salt Throne against his own father and uncle. He had seen Euron's power briefly emanating from his battle axe, and he sensed the darkness within it. If either Balon or Euron won, it would set back Jon's plans for combatting the God of Death by several months, thus giving the Others more time to increase their army, strengthening their own power.

  
When Euron finished speaking, he gave Theon a mocking bow and gestured for him to stand forward. Theon did, and looking around at all the captains who had made fun of him for his green and gold armour, he began.

  
“My captains, I am Theon Greyjoy,” he said. “For many years, I have been ward to the Starks of Winterfell after my father's failed rebellion against the Iron Throne. My father has promised that we will return to the Old Ways under his rule, while my uncle Euron has promised us the entire world. I can make no such promises, because they are unrealistic.

  
“What I can promise however is our survival. You have all heard of the tale of King Jon Targaryen, who wields a hammer that gives him control over the skies of our world. He has been chosen by the gods to lead us in defence against an enemy that threatens all living, and it is coming from beyond the Wall in the North. The gods have elected other champions to aid King Jon in this fight, giving them all extraordinary power as well. I have seen and spoken with the God of the Seas, who granted me his own trident and armour to command the seas upon which we have sailed for centuries.

  
“King Jon has offered the Iron Islands its freedom from the Seven Kingdoms if we aid him in the coming war. He has fought the true enemy and promised us that anyone not united with him will all be dead. We have always been reavers, and that will never change so long as the Iron Islands exist, but it is time that our skills be put to the real test.”

  
Theon turned around, facing the beach and raised his trident above his head. Immediately the waters receded far and fast, making the beach much larger. Many Ironborn gasped at the sight, while Euron scowled deeply. Then, the water returned in a massive tidal wave that threatened to wash everyone away to their doom. Many panicked and tried to run, other fell on their knees and offered prayers up to the Drowned God, and just as the tidal wave was about to fall upon them, Theon slammed the end of his trident down into the wet sand.

  
A golden wave of energy shot outwards from the trident and slammed into the tidal wave, and the great waters shot vertically high into the air, creating a wall of water that spanned the entire length of the beach. When Theon turned around to face the Ironborn, his eyes glowing gold, many of the remaining Ironborn either dropped to their knees in reverence or cheered Theon's name. Balon looked disappointed but accepted, despite having mocked his only son for days since he arrived, and his uncle Victarion seemed in awe at the sight of the sea obeying Theon's command.

  
However, Euron's cocky facade cracked at the display, his grin warped into a malicious scowl. With lightning speed, he unsheathed his battle axe, pointed it at Theon and a beam of red energy flew out, striking Theon dead in the chest and sending him hurtling along the beach. He crashed back down, bouncing a few times and caught himself by dragging his trident through the sand until he slowed down, then stood up again.

  
“Ow,” he grunted, then rolled his shoulders to get the pain out.

  
“DEFEND YOUR KING!” roared Victarion, unsheathing his own axe and charging at Euron alongside several other Ironborn. Euron easily parried their attacks, killing a few before burying his axe in Victarion's chestplate, immobilising the man. Victarion still lived however, and he headbutted Euron away, bloodying his nose.

  
“I've never been one to usurp thrones, but I have come too far to lose to a green boy!” bellowed Euron. He pulled out his axe from Victarion's chestplate and kicked him away before running at Theon, issuing a mighty battle cry.

  
Theon responded by sprinting towards his murderous uncle, trident at the ready and leapt into the air with a roar of his own. He brought the trident down hard, but Euron managed to block it in time with his axe. The two Greyjoys commenced a deadly battle, dancing and swinging their weapons viciously and spinning around each other in a deathly dance. Every time Theon's trident struck against Euron's axe, a loud clanging sound reverberated through the beach. Theon could feel whatever dark magic Euron had absorbed strengthening the pirate, and though it was helping him keep up with Theon, the Sea Champion figured that it was only a matter of time before Euron tired.

  
And that happened when Euron fired another beam at Theon when they separated, but he absorbed it into his trident. Euron snarled like an animal when his attack didn't work and ran to attack Theon again, but he suddenly dropped down on his knees. Black veins appeared on his face, coming from behind his eyepatch, and he gasped in pain.

  
“No! Not now!” yelled Euron. He used his axe like a crutch as he pushed himself up onto his feet again, then took a few more steps then fired another energy beam at Theon. Theon dove could feel the side and in one fluid move, he rolled along the sand, jumped up onto his feet and threw his trident like a spear towards Euron. Two of the prongs pierced through a gap in the armour of Euron's right shoulder, stabbing into the leather and flesh underneath while the last prong rested on top of the shoulder. The force of the throw was so powerful that it threw Euron right off his feet and he crashed into the sand, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  
Theon walked over to his fallen uncle and planted a foot on his chest, gripped his trident then yanked it out. Blood and dark red energy poured out of the wounds, making Euron scream again before they died off. He then chuckled like a madman and looked up at Theon.

  
“Well, it looks like you... are my king now,” he huffed.

  
As several Ironborn approached, Theon said, “Get him to a maester, then throw him in the dungeons and keep him under guard at all times.”  
As Euron was dragged away, he shouted, “I will have the Salt Throne! Mark my words!”

  
Theon could only roll his eyes in response as he went the other direction, back towards his father and Victarion. They dropped down on one knee, albeit reluctantly, and as his other uncle Aeron placed a crown made of driftwood on top of Theon's head, he had a feeling that Lord Stark would be proud of him.

* * *

  
“This heat is unbearable. Can't you... I don't know, send down rain or something?” complained Arya from on top of Ghost's back.

  
Jon looked up and over his shoulder to grin at his sister from the ground. “The heat could do you some good. You've gotten fatter since you learned that you could teleport instead of walk,” he teased.

  
“You're one to talk mister ‘I can fly everywhere and never have to touch the ground,’” scoffed Arya before she teleported down onto the sand dune next to Jon. Jon had ditched his normal heavy armour with the scaled sleeves and long cape in favour of a lighter armour of similar design made by Gendry. It looked to be made of dark leather but was far stronger than steel and more flexible, with no sleeves and only three discs instead of six, two on the shoulders and one attached to his belt. A single strap connected from the left disc to the belt diagonally, and instead of a long cape, it was a red half cape to show off his Targaryen heritage. On the right shoulder disc, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen was engraved into the metal while on the left was the snarling direwolf head of House Stark.

  
Jon, Arya and Ghost looked down at the palace not far away in front of them. The Water Gardens was the pleasure home of the Martells, and Prince Doran Martell's permanent residence. The Prince of Dorne could not travel long distances because of his disease which left him all but confined to his wheelchair, but according to rumour his mind was as sharp as castle-forged steel. But Prince Doran would not be the difficult one to gain on Jon's side. It was Prince Oberyn.

  
Arya teleported the three of them to the gates of the Water Gardens, and instantly there were cries from the top of the walls from the guards. Ghost let out a silent growl as he raised his head so that he was standing eye level with the guards, and Jon could have sworn he heard somebody squeak in fright.

  
“Who comes here?” called down a voice.

  
“Jon Targaryen, king of the Seven Kingdoms and his cousin, Lady Arya of House Stark,” answered Jon loudly. Then, as an afterthought he added, “Oh, and my direwolf Ghost.”

  
There was no answer, and Arya gave him a dry look.

  
“You had to mention the giant wolf, didn't you?” she said.

  
“Don't worry, they'll open up,” said Jon confidently.

  
“Or they might try to shoot the poor boy,” pointed out Arya.

  
“Why would they do that?” asked Jon.

  
“I don't know, maybe because there is a giant wolf standing outside of the palace's walls,” said Arya.

  
The gates opened, and to Jon's surprise, a number of small children ran out to greet them with excited looks on their faces. They did not seem to mind Ghost despite his fearsome appearance, though the wolf regarded them with his head cocked to the side as they moved between his legs. As the children looked on at the trio curiously, muttering and giggling amongst themselves, Jon noted how they seemed to be a combination of highborn and lowborn children. He thought it was interesting, having never heard of a place where everyone regardless of social status could mingle together without judgement.

  
A group of guards approached them then, making the children run back laughing into the palace. At the head was a tall, broad-shouldered man of dark skin and holding a massive halberd in his right hand, no doubt the captain of the guard.

  
“You are King Jon Targaryen?” asked the man.

  
“I am,” answered Jon. “And this is my cousin, Lady Arya Stark, my direwolf Ghost.”

  
“I am Areo Hotah, captain of the guard for House Martell,” said the man, confirming Jon's suspicions. “Come with me, Prince Doran and his daughter Princess Arianne wish to speak with you.” Areo gave Ghost a cautious look before he turned around with his guards to lead the way.

  
Jon gave Arya a smug look and said, “Told you it would work” before following, while Arya stuck out her tongue at him. They had only gotten a few steps forward when there was a loud _CRASH!,_ followed by a low whine. Jon and Arya whipped around to see that Ghost had tried to enter in with them, but was simply too big to fit inside. He tried again and again, rattling the thick wooden doors and making the guards on top lose their balance and stagger from the shaking, but Ghost was simply too large to fit.

  
“Ghost, stay outside,” ordered Jon. When the direwolf made a protesting whine, Jon continued, “I don't know! Go swim on the beach or something! Hunt for giant scorpions or whatever they have here that's big enough for you to eat!”

  
Ghost huffed, but pulled himself out and turned around, disappearing. Jon thought everything was fine until a great shadow flew over the wall and Jon's head, landing so hard that the ground shook. It was Ghost, who had jumped over the entire wall and was now looking at Jon with a spark in his blood red eyes. Jon sighed, but continued on his way while Arya sniggered.

  
The Water Gardens were undeniably beautiful, a true oasis in the dry Dornish heat. Children played in the pools, as well as some of the adult servants on their break, and Jon thought that the world needed more places like it. Maybe, once the Long Night was over and everything was peaceful once more Jon could have more Water Gardens like this one built all over Westeros.

  
Areo led the two Northerners to a shaded area, where a man in a wheeled chair was watching some of the children playing in the water with a serene smile on his face. He was middle aged, with thick dark hair and a beard with flecks of grey and white in them. His clothes were made of fine silks of blue and orange, though not overbearing or overly fancy. The man, undoubtedly Prince Doran Martell, looked over to the incoming group and offered a small smile. The man next to him was different in almost every way. He stood tall and proud, wearing breeches and a jerkin of silks that looked more practical than fashionable, and he was strong looking with eyes as dark as his hair that betrayed his cunning and ferocity. The Red Viper, Oberyn Martell.

  
“King Jon Targaryen and Lady Arya Stark,” greeted Prince Doran with a bow of his head.

  
“Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn, thank you for inviting us to your home,” said Jon as he and Arya bowed.

  
“The Water Gardens has always had a special place in my heart,” said Prince Doran.

  
“I wish there were places in the Seven Kingdoms like it,” commented Jon. “A haven for people of all births to drop their titles and live as we should. Growing up thinking I was a bastard, all I ever wanted was to be treated equal to the people I thought were my siblings.”

  
“You still are our brother Jon,” assured Arya.

  
“I know,” said Jon.

  
“Please, come and join us,” invited Prince Doran, gesturing to the nearby table with food and drink on top. “We were about to begin our lunch.”

  
“Thank you,” said Jon. He and Arya sat next to each other on one couch and helped themselves to some of the exotic fruits available, while Prince Oberyn sat on another and Prince Doran was wheeled in by Areo.

  
“Where is Princess Arianne? We were told she would be joining us,” asked Arya.

  
“My daughter was speaking with some of the noblemen, but she should be arriving shortly,” answered Prince Doran.

  
“So you are the son of the woman my brother-by-law stole away,” said Prince Oberyn with narrowed eyes, speaking for the first time.

  
“I am,” confirmed Jon slowly. Prince Oberyn seemed to consider him for a long moment before shrugging and helping himself to some food.

  
“I have held a grudge against your father for many years for dishonouring my sister Elia and being the cause of the deaths of so many,” said Prince Oberyn. “While I do blame your parents for their mistakes, that does not mean I will place that same blame onto their child.”

  
“So that means...” started Jon cautiously.

  
“It means Dorne willing to accept you as its king, but on a couple of conditions,” said Prince Doran.

  
Jon felt his hopes swell up, though he tried his to keep his face impassive. “And what would those conditions be?” he asked.

  
“Firstly, we want vengeance,” said Prince Oberyn. “Elia Martell and her children, your half-siblings were unjustly murdered by the Mountain and Ser Amory Lorch, and we want them brought to Dorne to face justice for their crimes.”

  
“We also believe Tywin Lannister to have ordered their deaths,” added Prince Doran.

  
“You will have Amory Lorch,” promised Jon. “Lord Tywin and the Mountain are another matter entirely.”

  
“Why?” asked Prince Oberyn in a slightly angry voice.

  
“Because Tywin Lannister is one of the most dangerous men in the Seven Kingdoms, it will be hard to reach him anyway, and Gregor Clegane cannot be killed by any man,” said Jon.

  
“I can assure you, King Jon, that I am not just any man,” seethed Prince Oberyn.

  
“I have no doubt of that. But The Mountain is a pure monster fuelled by the power of the God of Rage,” said Jon. “He is stronger than just about any living creature on this realm, though I fought him to a standstill.”

  
“We have heard of your legendary battle against the Mountain in King's Landing, but the right poisons can kill anything,” said Prince Doran.

  
“Poison can't kill a god,” retorted Arya.

  
“Regardless, we still want him dead, even if you have to use your own godly hammee to crush his skull yourself,” said Prince Doran.

  
Jon opened his mouth to speak, then he paused. “Wait, you believe the stories of me?” he asked.

  
The two princes shared an amused look with each other before Prince Doran said, “It would not be the strangest thing we have seen or heard.”

  
Jon heard the rushing of water outside grow louder, and he shifted on the couch so that he could see a long, thick stream of water twisting and turning through the air, around the children and Ghost like a snake and then towards the gathered nobles. It swirled around Jon and Arya's heads teasingly, wetting their faces slightly before flowing back to the pools, where it floated above for a moment, moulding itself into the shape of a woman before falling back in, causing a great splash.

  
“And you, Jon Targaryen, are quite possibly the strangest thing of all,” said a husky, sultry voice. Jon and Arya whipped around to see a woman a few years older than Jon come around the corner, her glowing blue eyes fading to reveal large, dark eyes with a mischievous twinkle. Jon felt his mind go blank. She was quite possibly one of, if not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was short, though a little taller than Arya, with thick, dark wavy hair that fell down her back down to her waist, olive skin and a curvaceous body that was sure to get many men's blood boiling with want. She wore expensive silk clothing similar to the two Dornish princes, though hers were designed to show off every curve in a seductive manner.

  
“My daughter and heir, Princess Arianne Martell,” introduced Prince Doran. Jon stood up and kissed the back of Princess Arianne’s offered hand lightly, keeping his eyes firmly focussed on her face instead of the large amount of cleavage she was showing off. Arya scowled openly at the princess, though she ignored it as she moved to sit down comfortably next to Prince Oberyn.

  
“So the Water Goddess chose you?” asked Jon once everyone was comfortable again.

  
“Yes. She thought it fitting that one who is descended from people who once worshipped her take up the responsibility in helping guard the realms of men,” answered Princess Arianne. “And look at you, the God of Thunder’s champion. It is ironic, isn't it? The Crown Prince of the Gods chooses the rightful heir to the Iron Throne to be the one to lead us into the Dawn. I would think that the Sun God would have taken the lead.”

  
“Do we know if there is a Sun God?” questioned Jon.

  
Princess Arianne shrugged. “This much I do know. The gods have not given us much on how to defeat the God of Death,” she said.

  
“They gave us their powers,” argued Arya.

  
“But little else,” retorted Princess Arianne easily. “We know how to kill the Death God's minions, but not how to actually kill their leader.”

  
“All we need to do is destroy enough of the Others to weaken the God of Death and drive it back,” said Jon.

  
“And what after?” asked Princess Arianne. “Do we wait for another eight-thousand years, when we are long dead and our stories are nothing more than fanciful myths to our descendants?”

  
Jon had no answer for that, but he thought of asking the Thunder God for an answer. He had only spoken a few times to him, but they had been short and to the point. Yet the Thunder God often seemed unwilling to give Jon a proper answer on how to permanently defeat the Death God, which probably meant something bad. He hadn't told the others that yet though.

  
Few more pleasantries were shared, with less talk of gods and monsters and more on the specifics of Dorne's fealty to House Targaryen before Jon and Arya were led to their rooms.

  
Later that night, as Jon lay in bed, he got a sinking feeling that something was on the horizon, and it was not good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Jon and Arianne flirt, and news comes from beyond the Wall, sending the gods into a panic.


	10. Grim News

Even the nights were warm in Dorne as Jon walked around the numerous pools of the palace. Everyone had gone to sleep, except for the guards who watched Jon with narrowed eyes under their helms. In the two sennights since coming to Dorne, Jon had treated with many of the lords and ladies of the desert kingdom accepting their oaths of fealty and discussing war strategies. It was all for a good cause, but Jon was tired of it all, and he had to get used to it too as king.

  
Feeling tired, Jon decided to retire. Arya was nowhere to be found, which meant she was either invisible or had gone exploring. The latter was more likely seeing as Ghost had disappeared as well, probably off with Arya and while he wished he had gone with them, Jon didn't mind. The direwolf and Shadow Goddess were both born for the cold snows of the North, not the dry arid weather of Dorne.

  
Jon made a turn back to his rooms, ignoring the guards completely on the long walk. He heard loud noises coming from Prince Oberyn's rooms as he walked past, which meant that the prince and his paramour Ellaria were going at it like animals again. It was no wonder the prince had so many daughters. That was one thing Jon wasn't comfortable when it came to the Dornish; while they were more open and accepting compared to the other kingdoms, that acceptance drifted towards things of the carnal and sensual as well. And Jon, having never laid with a woman still found that awkward.

  
Jon closed the door to his rooms behind him and walked over to one of the chairs and began to take of his armour. He was in the middle of unbuckling his belt when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He knew it wasn't Arya, because she was completely silent when trying to sneak up on someone, so that meant...

  
Jon summoned Mjolnir to his hand, spinning around quickly as lightning began to crackle from his fingertips. The person was Princess Arianne, who looked mildly surprised to having a hammer pointed directly at her face. As Jon lowered Mjolnir, she grinned.

  
“What are you doing here, Princess?” demanded Jon.

  
“Testing your power, I've yet to see it,” replied Princess Arianne. “Though I must say, the sparkles out of your fingers is very impressive.”

  
Jon frowned before tossing Mjolnir away, where it landed at the foot of his bed. He then removed his belt and took off his chest armour, undershirt and braces so that he was bare-chested, then lightly placed it on the chair next to him. In the two sennights since coming to Dorne, Jon had never met someone so infuriating as Arianne Martell. She was brash, impulsive and had a wit that often left Jon flustered and angry, and on one occasion had even caused him to accidentally conjure a storm in the middle of the desert because she made him so mad. Princess Arianne was also prone to making suggestive comments, and Jon suspected she only did it to get on his nerves. Well, it was certainly working. It certainly didn't help that she was so bloody beautiful.

  
“I am tired Princess, I need rest,” said Jon, “so whatever you have to say, please let it be quick.”

  
“I wasn't aware that people like us could get tired,” said the princess. “It has been too long since I have had a partner who could keep up with me.”

  
“I will let you know when I find a God of Speed,” said Jon dryly as he went and sat on the edge of his bed.

  
“Funny,” said Princess Arianne humourlessly. “But I think you miss the point of what I am trying to say.” When Jon stared at her blankly, she added, “Surely you understand?”

  
Jon did, but he wasn't going to admit it anytime soon as he pulled off his boots. Arianne was undoubtedly beautiful, and while he had found himself staring at her on several occasions, he wasn't sure if he wanted to pursue anything with her. The part of him that still thought he was a bastard thought himself unworthy still. And there was of course the thought of Sansa. Jon knew that he was attracted to her very much, and he was just as certain that Sansa cared for him the same way. If he did try anything and she found out, she would be heartbroken.

  
“You should leave,” he said lowly with that thought in mind.

  
“Why?” asked Princess Arianne.

  
“I already told you why,” said Jon.

  
“I don't believe you.”

  
“I don't care, leave.”

  
“I think you're lying.”

  
“Why would I lie?”

  
“Because you're scared of me.”

  
Jon pulled up short and looked at the princess, who had her arms folded across her chest with a challenging look in her eyes. Jon felt his temper flare up as he said through gritted teeth, “I'm not scared of you.”

  
“Then why won't you lie with me?” pushed Arianne.

  
“I will not put a bastard in you or any other woman. I do not wish that life on anyone,” said Jon.

  
“You and I have very different images on a bastard's life, remember?” said Arianne.

  
Oh, Jon certainly did. But he wasn't going to tell Arianne that he had never slept with a woman either.

  
“I'm not fucking you,” growled Jon.

  
“So you are scared of me,” said Arianne.

  
“I'm _not_ ,” snapped Jon angrily. What was with this woman?!

  
“Prove it,” challenged Arianne.

  
“I can simply throw you halfway to Essos from here,” said Jon.

  
“I'd drown you before you even tried,” retorted Arianne.

  
“I'd electrocute the water and you if you did that,” said Jon. He felt a wave of triumph flare up in his chest as Arianne came up with no response to that. “The door is that way Princess,” he added with a gesture to said door mockingly.

  
Arianne huffed loudly before she whipped around, her hair flying through the air before she stormed off towards the door. Jon closed his eyes as he heard the door open then slam shut, and he finally thought he would have peace...

  
Until a stream of water flew right into his face.

  
Jon opened his eyes, spluttering as his body went into slight shock. He stood up from the bed, but before he could react any further, Arianne jumped up and slammed into him, her body pressing against his firmly as her legs wrapped around his waist. Jon fell back onto the bed from the impact, and he tried to sit back up, but Arianne pushed him back down, straddled his hips and held him in place.

  
“Get _off_ me,” growled Jon.

  
“No,” said Arianne. Jon scowled deeply, but the next thing he knew he was kissing Arianne passionately on the lips. He felt her eagerness as she forced his lips open with her tongue, and Jon battled against it with his own. Hands freely roamed each other's bodies, hair, arms, hips, legs, everything that could be reached. Jon's left hand came up and grabbed Arianne's right breast and began kneading it, eliciting a soft moan from her, the sound of which shooting a reaction straight down to Jon's groin. Arianne ground against him, further stoking Jon's desire and he groaned at the pleasurable feeling.

  
“Do you like that?” asked Arianne against his lips.

  
“Get off me,” Jon repeated half-heartedly in response. He pulled back from Arianne to see her the pupils of her dark eyes full blown with lust, and Jon imaged that his eyes were very similar. Arianne kissed Jon again, and he responded eagerly before Arianne sat up again. She pulled at the strings on the front of her dress expertly, and the fabric loosened before falling past her shoulders to pool at her waist. Jon's eyes widened at the sight of her large breasts with large dark nipples, and he sat up before taking one nipple into his mouth and lightly sucking on it.

  
“Oh, _Gods_ ,” moaned Arianne as her head pulled back to give Jon more room to work.

  
Jon had no time to keep worshipping Arianne's wonderful body, because a gust of wind blew in, carrying dark words.

  
“ _Jon, The Others’ have been spotted harassing the Wildlings... they are retreating to Hardhome. The Night's Watch has asked for ships and men to sail them to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. They are coming... we need you here now.”_

  
Sansa's voice snapped Jon out of his lust-clouded mind, and he was instantly very aware of everything again.

  
“Don't stop,” said Arianne when she noticed that he had ceased his ministrations.

  
“I have to return North,” said Jon quickly, and he gently removed Arianne off of him and began gathering his armour again and putting it on.

  
“Are you truly so scared of putting a bastard in me that you'll flee all the way to the other side of Westeros to escape it?!” said Arianne loudly and angrily.

  
“No, it’s not that,” said Jon quickly. “I just received a message from Sansa. The Free Folk are in danger, and they need my help.”

  
Arianne's attitude changed in an instant. Her face grew serious, and she quickly put on her dress again and hopped off the bed before walking over to the door. “I'll alert my father and uncle of what is happening. Don't leave without me,” she said, then left when Jon nodded.

  
Jon finished getting dressed, then picked up Mjolnir and marched out onto the balcony joining to his room. He didn't know where Arya and Ghost were, but he knew how to get their attention. He raised Mjolnir up into the air, and storm clouds began to gather, followed by the low rumble of thunder. A single lightning bolt plummeted from the sky, striking the hammer and lighting up the entire palace with godly light. Once the lightning disappeared Jon heard a soft puffing noise, and suddenly there was a giant white wolf staring at him. Another puff and Arya was standing behind him.

  
“What's wrong?” asked Arya.

  
“Sansa sent me a message. The Others are hunting the Free Folk,” answered Jon.

  
“If the Others get the Wildlings, they'll have an army big enough to attack the Wall,” gasped Arya.

  
“Exactly. Which is why we’re leaving now,” said Jon. Just at that moment Arianne returned, this time accompanied by Prince Doran, who had been wheeled in by Areo Hotah, and Oberyn, who hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt. He was surprised to see that Arianne had changed into clothes that looked like thick furs.

  
“I am so sorry, my princes, but the Others are attacking the Free Folk, and we have to help them,” explained Jon quickly.   
“Now?” said Prince Doran incredulously.

  
“I'm sorry, but we have to,” said Jon.

  
“I will be going with you,” said Arianne.

  
“No, you must stay,” said Prince Doran fiercely.

  
“Dorne's interests must be represented,” fought Arianne, “and my powers might prove useful to the fight!”

  
Prince Doran looked as though he was about to argue, until his younger placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is for the best,” said Prince Oberyn.

  
Prince Doran sighed before finally nodding. “Go, but be careful,” he said.

  
Arianne smiled before leaning down and giving her father a kiss on the cheek, then hugged Prince Oberyn before going to stand by Jon. The king looked down at Arya and said, Let's go.”

  
Once again, dark shadow surrounded Jon for a moment before completely enveloping him, and when it disappeared, the group of three gods and a giant direwolf were standing in the godswood of Winterfell. Arianne shivered and swore loudly at the cold, and Jon quickly wrapped her in his arms to keep her warm.

  
“Let's head inside,” he said to Arya. Arya nodded her head and took the lead, while Ghost leapt high into the air over the walls of the castle, disappearing into the night. As the three gods exited the godswood, cries hailing the return of the king were shouted by guards who spotted them. A few approached Jon and knelt before him, and Jon quickly bid them to rise before ordering them to find Lord Stark and some servants to prepare a room for Arianne.

  
Within a few moments, the castle was almost practically emptied as high and lowborn alike filtered into the yard, all kneeling in respect to their king. Lord and Lady Stark stood at the front and quickly approached the three arrivals, and Uncle Ned removed his own coat to place on Arianne's shoulders while Lady Stark led the Dornish princess into the keep.

  
“We need to have a council once Princess Arianne is settled in,” said Jon to his uncle.

  
“Very well. Will the princess be joining us as well?” asked Uncle Ned.

  
“She's the Water Goddess, she will be needed,” answered Jon.

  
Uncle Ned's eyebrows rose at the revelation, but he said nothing and moved out of the way so that Robb could hug Jon. Once they parted, Robb smirked at Jon.

  
“Missed me?” he asked.

  
“Please, I relished in the time I had to part from your stench,” said Jon dryly. “Come, we have a council to attend.” He then looked around briefly and noticed that a Sea God was missing. “Where's Theon?”

  
“Still on his way,” answered Robb. “Sansa has already sent him a message telling him to take the Iron Fleet to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.”

  
“Good, we will need his ships,” said Jon, before he took the lead into the keep. “And Sansa?”

  
“Probably making sure her crops are doing okay,” said Robb. “Do you want me to go grab her?”

  
“I can do it,” said Jon, and he separated from Robb and headed for the glass gardens. They were larger than he remembered and filled with crops, and he felt a sense of satisfaction that everyone was doing their part to make sure the North would survive the winter. Jon found Sansa in the middle, kneeling on the ground with her back to him. Jon was about to say something when she turned around, and her eyes widened before she jumped up onto her feet and sprinted towards him. Jon barely managed to open his arms out to catch her, and as he held her in his arms, Jon wondered why he would even betray her in the first place.

  
“I got back as soon as I could,” said Jon once he pulled back from Sansa, though his arms still remained around her waist.

  
“That was very quick,” pointed out Sansa.

  
“It helps when you have a sister who can travel anywhere instantly,” retorted Jon lightly. Then he noticed Sansa's attire. “Are those... breeches?”

  
Indeed, Sansa seemed to have ditched her usual long dresses in favour of a leather jerkin and breeches, along with boots with a dagger strapped to her belt. Sansa's face turned beet red as she ducked her head in embarrassment.

  
“I was getting sick of dirtying my skirts, so I made these,” she explained shyly.

  
“I like it,” assured Jon. Sansa smiled up at him, and Jon really felt unworthy of her affections. “There is something I meed to tell you, but it can wait until after the council,” he said.

  
Sansa seemed to sense the gravity lf the situation because her smile dipped, but she nodded and took Jon's hand before leaving the gardens together.

* * *

  
“Hardhome,” said Robb, “what’s it like?”

  
Almost all the lords and gods were gathered inside Uncle Ned's war room, making it seem slightly crowded. There were a number of Northern lords visiting, including the Greatjon Umber, Lord Karstark, Lord Cerwyn, one of the Manderly sons and Lady Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey. From the South was Edmure Tully, Lady Stark's younger brother, Lord Yohn Royce, who represented the Vale on young Robert Arryn's behalf, as well as Lady Shireen Baratheon and her advisor Ser Davos Seaworth, and Lord Mace Tyrell. Not to mention the all of the Starks except for Rickon (Bran had become the champion of the God of Time during Jon's tour of the South, giving him access to visions of the past, present and future), Arianne and Jon.

  
Jon stood at the head of the table, with Uncle Ned on his right side as his Lord Hand, and Arya on the left as his self-proclaimed bodyguard (apparently he needed one). Uncle Ned pointed at a certain spot on the map of Westeros beyond the Wall.

  
“It's the largest settlement North of the Wall,” he said. “It was once the main trading hub of the Wildlings, where they used to trade fish, furs and other goods. But a few centuries ago something terrible happened and now most avoid the area because it is believed to be haunted. Rangers of the Night's Watch often report strange lights and noises coming from there..”

  
“And now they're all fleeing there,” commented Lady Stark, “why?”

  
“They wouldn't be going there unless they had no choice,” said Jon. He leaned forward and examined the map. It would be difficult getting one-hundred thousand people out of there, even with the entirety of the Iron Fleet. He glanced over and shared a look with Robb, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

  
“How do we get that many people out of there?” questioned the Stark heir.

  
“The process will be long and dangerous,” said Uncle Ned. “Reports are still coming in of packs of wights ambushing people and dragging them away. Others have been spotted in the Haunted Forest as well.”

  
“Any sign of the main force?” asked Jon.

  
“No Your Grace. But a slow blizzard has been spotted heading South from the Frostfangs,” answered Lord Cerwyn.

  
“A blizzard?” repeated Arya.

  
“Yes. It was still far away from what we know, and it might blow over by the time it gets anywhere near the Wall,” said Lady Stark.

  
“Theon will be on his way North by now. But there won't be enough ships to accommodate all the Wildlings,” said Robb.

  
“We'll need to send men and wagons North then to make a convoy for everyone else,” said Uncle Ned. Jon agreed with a nod of his head.

  
“The Reach can supply some wagons, Your Grace,” said Lord Mace.

  
“Thank you, my lord,” said Jon. Then he turned to the Greatjon. “Is the Gift and your lands prepared for the Free Folk to settle in, my lord?”

  
The Greatjon looked less than enthused at the prospect of having to allow Wildlings to settle on his lands, but he nodded nonetheless. Jon nodded appreciatively at the large man before looking at the people gathered as a whole.

  
“This will be our first battle against the Death God,” he said. “The Others' numbers are still small from what we know, which is why they are using guerrilla tactics against the Free Folk. But I want every one of us with powers to be at Hardhome should they decide to press an attack. We will need our strength to combat their dark magic.”

  
All of the gods gathered nodded their heads in agreement except for Bran, who looked uncomfortable from his chair. “I don't think I can go with you Jon, simply because...” he drifted off as he gestured to his legs.

  
“You will come with us as far as the Wall, where you will stay at Eastwatch,” said Jon. “All of us will be needed, just in case.”

  
A dread silence filled the room as Jon's words sunk in. This was the first battle in the War for the Dawn, and a lot depended on it.

  
“Some motivational speaker you are,” sniggered Arya.

  
She was rewarded for that with an elbow to the ribs from Jon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The evacuation of the Free Folk goes wrong, and another god enters the game.
> 
> Also I hope I did the scene with Jon and Arianne justice. It was my first time writing something raunchy like that.


	11. Hardhome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that a couple of people are pissed at Jon for almost banging Arianne. Good, I wanted that to happen because after this chapter things are gonna get even worse for the God of Thunder. But I should remind everyone that this story has a Jonsa endgame, and they are the main couple but not the main focus of this story. It's more of a dramatic side quest than anything.

The winds were strong and cold as Jon flew alongside Gendry above Hardhome. Amidst the sea of rock and ice below, little yellow lights flickered as tiny figures drifted between them like a swarm of ants. Hardhome was a cold and desolate place, but Jon could see why it was once the largest settlement and trading post beyond the Wall. It had easy access to both the sea and Haunted Forest, allowing both hunting and fishing, and the steep jagged cliffs around it provided a natural defence.

  
Jon gave Gendry a look that said to follow him, and he dove down towards the village. He landed hard on the beach, kicking up snow, as did Gendry, though his was larger as he was heavier. The Free Folk startled at their arrivals, but quickly settled down when they recognised the God of Thunder, though they gave the metal man a queer look.

  
“Bright bunch, aren't they?” commented Gendry as his helm vanished.

  
“They've been through a lot recently,” replied Jon. He then approached one of the men who was watching them curiously. “Where can I find Mance Rayder?”

  
“In there,” said the man, pointing to the largest hut in the village. Jon nodded his appreciation before he and Gendry walked over, ignoring the guards stationed at the door. It was dark yet warm inside the large hut, with only a single fire in the centre. There was a hole in the roof where the smoke was escaping from, and a second level that had a ladder going down it. There were several Free Folk men and women who all stared at the newcomers with varying looks of apprehension, except for Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. He looked more relieved than anything.

  
“Jon Targaryen, here to save us again,” he said, standing up from his chair. As Jon approached Mance, a large man with a thick red beard stood in his way. Jon remembered him as Tormund Giantsbane, a loud man with a booming laugh and a fierce warrior in his own right.

  
“Excuse me,” said Jon. Tormund huffed, seeming to size Jon up before stepping aside to let him pass. Jon moved and clasped Mance's arm firmly before gesturing to Gendry. “This is my friend Gendry. He is the chosen God of the Forge and can make weapons that can kill the Others.”

  
“Nothing can kill the Others,” scoffed a man, a Thenn by the looks of his shaved head and tribal scars.

  
“Jon's hammer can, my armour can, and so can Valyrian steel,” said Gendry.

  
“A useful man indeed,” complimented Mance. He looked at Jon expectantly. “So what is your plan, Thunder God?”

  
“In a few hours, a thousand men with over two hundred wagons will come from the Haunted Forest, while the Iron Fleet will arrive in the harbour,” explained Jon. “Most of your people will take the ships, and those who are left will leave with the convoy back to Castle Black. Once there you will settle in at the Gift.”

  
“And the Others?” asked Mance.

  
“We did a scouting of the area just before we arrived. We didn't see anything,” said Jon.

  
Mance and the other Wildlings looked concerned. “We figured as much,” said Mance. “For weeks, we've been attacked on and off by small packs of wights, even after we got here. But they haven't been seen for over a sennight by anyone, not even our wargs can find them.”  
“Do you think it's a trap?” asked Jon.

  
“I'm almost certain of it,” said Mance firmly.

  
“Then we need to get you out as soon as possible,” said Jon. “I was thinking that we get as many women and children onto the ships when they arrive, and leave the fighting men and spearwives for the convoy. At least they will have a chance.”

  
“Agreed.”

  
Jon looked at Gendry and asked, “Can you go and see how far everyone is? When you do, tell them to pick up the pace.”

  
Gendry nodded before his helmet slipped back on and he flew up through the sunroof, stunning many of the Free Folk. Mance chuckled deeply before grabbing a hollow horn filled with fermented goat's milk and handed it to Jon. “You Southerners sure have changed,” he commented.

  
“I doubt anyone would have listened to me were it not for my powers,” said Jon.

  
“Sometimes a good power demonstration is needed,” said Mance. “How do you think I became King of these people?”

  
Jon grinned a took a sip of the goat's milk, grimacing slightly at the sourness of the liquid as it travelled down his throat. “I don’t know how you can drink this stuff, it's nasty.”

  
“It keeps my head clear,” said Mance with a shrug.

  
“Drunk is not clear,” said Jon.

  
“What's the difference?”

  
Jon chuckled at that. Mance was unshakeable, even in the face of the death of his people. Jon could admire that and even envied him for it slightly. He wished he was so unbreakable, he still hadn’t told Sansa about what happened between him and Arianne. He’d chickened out after the council and kept putting off the impending conversation. Sansa knew something was wrong and had grown suspicious and even distant of Jon, and he really wanted to smash his own head against Mjolnir.

  
“Coward,” Jon muttered to himself.

  
“What was that?” asked Mance.

  
“Nothing,” said Jon quickly. Seven Hells, he was going to be in so much trouble.

* * *

  
The evacuation was well under way now. Theon's Iron Fleet had arrived, as well as the massive convoy that was currently being filled outside. To make the process go faster, Arianne had created a bridge out of... hardened water (it wasn’t ice, but Jon had no other way to describe it) to allow the Free Folk to travel faster, and now there was a procession of people making their way along it slowly. Ghost was standing watch at the mouth of the bridge, his red eyes shifting over the fleeing people. Arya was perched on the roof of one of the huts, tossing one of her fan blades up into the air over and over again. Gendry was flying through the air above them, keeping an eye out for any threats coming their way, while Sansa was tending to any injured, healing them instantly and sending them on their way with a bright smile that made even the most hardened Wildling soften. Robb and Uncle Ned were near the gates of the village, overseeing the procession of people alongside some of their men.

  
And Jon was near Ghost, directing his soldiers as they flitted between the Free Folk, checking and moving supplies, assisting the people, standing guard. It was going smoothly but slowly, too slowly for Jon's liking.

  
Theon appeared next to Jon then, dripping with salt water all over. “They've already filled up eight of my ships,” he said.

  
“How many people are aboard?” asked Jon.

  
“Roughly two thousand,” answered Theon.

  
“And how many ships did you bring?”

  
“Not enough.”

  
Jon sighed and shook his head. It wasn't just people they were trying to transport, but giants, mammoths and any animal that responded to Sansa’s magic had to be taken South of the Wall to escape certain death at the hands of the Others. Mance approached the two gods then with a grim look.

  
“We're sitting ducks out here,” he said. “What's taking so long?”

  
“Everything,” said Jon. “We're moving everything that lives North of the Wall and you expect it to go by quickly?”

  
“I just have a bad feeling is all,” said Mance. “I keep getting the feeling we're being watched.”

  
Arya popped into existence then and said, “It's probably because we are. My shadow magic keeps sensing something just beyond its power, and Sansa says the animals are growing nervous.”

  
Tormund came over as well, holding several bags which he loaded into a nearby boat. “The air is getting colder,” he said. “Lord of Thunder, can't you make it a little more sunny?”

  
“God of Thunder,” grumbled Jon before adding, “No, I can access my powers here, but the lands North of the Wall are not my dominion.”

  
“A shame. I would have liked to have a sunny day for once,” said Tormund.

  
“And you will get that day and many more after once we're safe behind the Wall,” said an attractive blonde woman. “But that won't happen if you all keep standing around doing nothing!”

  
“Sorry Val,” said Mance. “Val, my sister-by-law,” he added to the others.

  
“Nice,” said Theon appreciatively.

  
“ _Jon, the animals are going crazy_ ,” said Sansa's voice through the wind. As soon as those words were said, the temperature dropped rapidly, and everyone paused in their work. A deathly silence came over the village and camps outside the walls, and other than the sounds of barking dogs and gusts of wind, nobody made a noise. A thick wall of snow fell over the cliffs, bringing with it icy winds that pierced even Jon's armour, and the Thunder God tightened his grip on Mjolnir ever so slightly.

  
As the blizzard fell upon the camps, the Free Folk and animals outside of the wooden walls went into a frenzy and began sprinting for Hardhome. Jon was horrified to see the younger and stronger abandoning the old and weak, but the fear of death had fallen upon everyone, causing them to abandon all reason. Many tried coming inside, but somebody ordered the gates shut, an order which did not seem to sit well with either Robb or Uncle Ned as they began arguing with a Wildling.

  
The gates closed, but soon it was rattling slightly as people began pounding on it, begging to be let in.

  
“We have to help,” urged Jon.

  
“We can't, they're already dead,” said Mance grimly, though his face mirrored Jon’s feeling of sickness. The pounding on the gates and walls ceased suddenly, as did the screaming so quickly that Jon was stunned. The air was heavy with tension, the grips on weapons tightened, yet nobody moved.

  
Jon saw Uncle Ned draw his Valyrian steel longsword from its scabbard and slowly approach the gate before peering into a small hole. There was nothing for a long moment, and Jon felt that the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. What was Uncle seeing?

  
Suddenly Uncle Ned lurched back as a rotten hand burst through the small hole, followed by horrific screeches of the undead. Panic exploded through the village like wildfire, and very quickly every man and his dog were sprinting for the water bridge. Ghost howled into the winds, the sound chilling Jon to the bone. Something drifted in front of his face, and for a brief moment he was distracted by the beauty of the single snowflake. But Theon's shouting drew him back to the situation at hand.

  
The bridge got to clustered to fit everyone on at one time, so many abandoned reason and jumped into the freezing water and tried to swim. Shadowcats leaped over heads, pushing through the crowds. A mammoth panicked and let out a thundering trumpeting sound before charging towards the water, crushing anyone that got in its way. Hardhome's gates and walls rattled violently as hundreds of wights surged against it, hacking away at the wood. Archers fired flaming arrows at the climbing monstrosities , and while a few found their marks and ended their targets, the cold blew out most of the fires.

  
“We need to get everything in order!” yelled Jon. Mance nodded and grabbed his Valyrian steel axe, a gift from Uncle Ned and grabbed a few men before heading towards the gate. “Sansa, try and strengthen the gates.”

  
In response, thick roots as white as bone sprang out of the ground, growing razor sharp thorns before forming together over the failing wall. The wights tried to hack into the new wall, but smaller roots would come and pry them off before tossing them back onto their side. Some wights managed to sneak past and began hacking at the closest living things to them, completely oblivious to the weapons striking them. Robb and Uncle Ned were at the head of the defence, directing men and slaying undead with their swords like the valiant knights often sung about in the stories. From the sky, beams of yellow light would fall down and incinerate entire undead bodies into nothingness from Gendry. But it still wasn't enough.

  
Despite the added defences courtesy of Sansa, as well as the well-equipped men who were fighting with everything they had, wights will still getting through. For every wight that died, two more would take its place and kill a man. The ground was already littered with bodies and the air steaming with still-warm spilt blood.

  
“Fuck this,” growled Jon. He spun Mjolnir by the leather thong, creating a whirlwind of snow before taking off into the air. He landed in front of Robb and Uncle Ned, cape billowing in the wind. Very quickly he smacked down two wights before throwing Mjolnir at the wall. The hammer flew parallel to the wall of roots and wood, tracking any wights who dared to climb over. In the meantime Jon picked up a dead warrior's sword and began cutting down anything that was undead and too close to him. Limbs and heads went flying with each stroke of the sword, and when he thought it was time for Mjolnir to return, Jon stretched his right hand out while fighting off wights with the sword in his left. The hammer knocked a few more wights out of its way when it returned, and Jon dropped the sword to fully utilise the hammer's abilities.

  
Jon relished in the battle. The god part of him, the part that seemed to have lived a thousands lives and twice as many battles, wanted the fight to never end. He could barely feel the cold anymore as the pummelled wight after wight with Mjolnir. And he wasn't the only one who seemed to feel that way. Arya vanished in and out of the battle, travelling between foes and gutting them with her fan blades before disappearing and reappearing elsewhere over and over again. Theon roared as he speared wights left and right, tossing them over his shoulder or smacking them far into the sky. Gendry dipped in and out, obliterating multiple enemies at once with his hand and eye beams before taking off into the sky once more. Sansa had animals at her beck and call, ravens would fly down and blind wights before shadowcats would come and tear them to pieces. Ghost stayed to protect Arianne, who was putting all of her focus into maintaining the bridge. Robb was an angel of death with his magical shield. He would throw it, and the shield would bounce off multiple targets before returning to his outstretched hand, and then he would finish the wights with his sword.

  
But it still wasn't enough. In spite of his power, Jon could see that many were being overwhelmed by the dead. His boots were slick with blood and the head of his hammer blackened with congealed blood. They needed to buy Arianne time to get everyone onto the ships. Jon signalled to Robb, and he nodded before tossing his shield up into the air. Jon smacked it with Mjolnir, and the shield whizzed through the air, charged by lightning as it shot through the air and sliced apart numerous wights before returning to Robb's arm. Jon grinned at his cousin before resuming the fight. It was a move that he and Robb had practised leading up to their journey North, and it had surprisingly paid off well.

  
The cold grew even worse yet again, this time bringing a deathly message. Through the white winds, Jon could see pale eyes staring at him, and he growled. At least twenty Others appeared, their armour dazzling yet haunting as it shone with multiple shades of blue, helping them blend into their surroundings. The swords they carried were sharp and thin and so cold that the very air crackled around the blades. They left no footprints in the snow, and moved with an ethereal grace that suggested they were hunting prey instead of fighting in a war. The other gods and heroes noticed the arrival of the wights' masters, and formed up on Jon.

  
“Come on! Do your worst, I need a challenge!” boomed Jon before leaping forward at the nearest Other. He brought the hammer down, aiming for its face, but to his surprise, the Other blocked it with its sword, halting the attack completely. Another surprise happened when the Other headbutted Jon in the face, making him stumble backwards slightly. Jon laughed, but the Other followed up with a kick in his chest that sent him sprawling. Jon got back up and grinned.

  
“Now that's more like it!” he bellowed before throwing Mjolnir. The hammer hit the white walker's face so hard that its head came clean off, and the rest of it exploded in a shower of ice. The hammer returned to Jon's hand , and he moved on to the next. And the next. And the next one after that until his bloodlust was up, and all he wanted to do was _kill_. He longed for battle, he _craved_ it.

  
That was until there was a loud splash and screaming. Jon looked behind to see the water bridge collapsing, sending giant waves full of people, animals and supplies up into the air. Something bad had happened to Arianne that must have made her lose her concentration, or worse.

  
“Robb! Find the princess!” bellowed Jon. Robb nodded as he decapitated an Other before taking off with Uncle Ned and a few remaining soldiers. This was a bad turn of events. Without Arianne controlling the water, there was no way for anyone to escape. Odds were the caravan convoy had been completely overrun were high, and the wall of roots made by Sansa were almost hacked to pieces. They needed a diversion, something that would draw all of the Others’ attention away from the survivors.

  
“Arya! Get everyone out of here!” yelled Jon over the wind.

  
“What about you?!” called back Arya before she ducked under an Other's blade, then stabbed it repeatedly in the stomach with a dagger.

  
“I'm creating a diversion!” shouted Jon before he jumped high into the air. As he came down, lightning struck Mjolnir and he slammed it into the bloodied ground. The lightning dispersed in a wave of electrical light around Jon, and anything caught in it was electrocuted to death. Standing up again, Jon waited for his people to be a far enough distance before he began spinning Mjolnir, similar to how he would when preparing to fly. But instead of taking off into the air, Jon began to wildly swing it around, striking anything that got too close.

  
Others and wights all tried to get to Jon, but they were destroyed every time by the might of the hammer. Occasionally lightning would shoot out and incinerate a few wights or Others, yet they had no fear of death, for they were already dead. Once they got cautious, Jon threw Mjolnir, and it flew around in a circle, knocking down everything in its way. The monsters that managed to get past the hammer would only end up being greeted by Jon's fists and feet as he punched and kicked away his foes, and Jon let out s chuckle.

  
He paused, then stretched his hand out, and Mjolnir paused mid-air, then began a reverse rotation back to its master before coming back to his hand. Jon then crouched down and spun the hammer again, only this time every time the hammer hit the ground, it would kick up ice and rock in all directions, hitting the wights like projectiles that severed heads, limbs and torsos. The white walkers were faster dodgers, though a couple were struck down by the projectiles.

  
Jon stood up as the wights and their masters ceased coming at him, and Jon allowed himself to look beyond the battle to the shore. The bridge had returned, and it seemed like most of the survivors were already on the ships, but then from the cliffs, the largest horde of wights Jon had ever seen tumbled down, falling in a massive pile next to the now-destroyed main hut. There was a brief moment of silence, then the wights jerked awake again and began stumbling onto their feet, brandishing jagged and rusting weapons. The horde surrounded Jon, and suddenly he didn't like his chances until he looked up at the sky, getting an idea.

  
“Close the bridge,” he said to the wind.

  
“What about you?” said Sansa in a panicked voice.

  
“I'll fly out,” replied Jon. He spun Mjolnir a few more times before pointing it up high above his head. A huge lightning bolt fell down, striking the hammer and then Jon slammed the hilt down into the ground. The very ground beneath Jon shook before erupting outwards, shooting huge boulders of rock, ice and wood up into the air in an enormous shockwave that shattered the cliffs, sending down more rock and ice to bury the horde of wights. Great claps of splitting earth caused Jon's head to ring, and he stumbled a little before regaining his footing. Great waves travelled through the water from the earthquake, rocking the ships violently. The cold winds dispersed for a moment, and Jon stood up with a satisfactory grin on his face.

  
But then the Others stood up again. Jon's grin turned to a scowl as he prepared to fight again, but to his surprise, they sheathed their weapons and parted away.

  
From the cold fog, a tall creature appeared, its silhouette humanoid. Then it appeared. At first, Jon thought it was another white walker, but then quickly realised it was different. This Other was about a head taller than Jon and bulkier than its brothers. Its armour was thicker and darker, its eyes a more piercing blue, and instead of the white, wispy hair that most of the Others had, this one was bald, save it were the crown of ice growing out of its skull. In its right hand it held a sword, thicker and longer than the other white walkers' blades with a longer hilt allowing it to wield the blade two-handed.

  
“Are you the God of Death?” said Jon loudly to the Other. The monster responded with a tilt of its head, and Jon suddenly gasped in pain and fell to his knees as he felt something invade his mind.

  
“ _I am not the Death God, but I am its general, the Night King,_ ” said the invasive presence in a cold, raspy voice.  
“Ugh... get out of my head,” grunted Jon.

  
“ _The Gods have made a mistake, allowing your ilk to live in this world,_ ” said the Night King, “ _The God of Death plans to rectify that mistake by erasing all living from existence, then create a newer, better world._ ”

  
Images of the whole world coated in white filled Jon's mind. Westeros connecting to Essos by a bridge of ice, cities falling and screams of the dead and undead. White, stained with red and black, a shrieking dragon as it fell from the shy with a spear of ice through its neck, and a horde of dead with glowing blue eyes that stretched on with no end in sight.

  
“Your master wants to remove all free will!” said Jon angrily.

  
“ _In order to remove will, life must go with it_ ,” answered the Night King.

  
“Well, that's not going to happen while I live,” said Jon. He straightened up and threw Mjolnir with all his might straight at the Night King's face. The Night King dropped his sword and conjured up a beam of snow and ice and fired it the incoming hammer. To Jon's horror, Mjolnir slowed down through the air before stopping, and the Night King placed a pale hand on its head. Ice creeped up and covered the entire hammer, and Jon felt his connection to Mjolnir cut off. He tried calling it back, but there was no answer.

  
“That's... not possible!” exclaimed Jon. The Night King merely looked at Jon coldly before punching the hammer, and the most powerful weapon of the gods shattered into a million pieces.

  
Jon barely had time to register what had happened before the Night King was in front of him and delivered a powerful punch, which collided with Jon's nose. The Thunder God went flying through the air before crashing into a fallen boulder the size of a house. Jon tried to get up, but the Night King came and kicked him back down onto his arse, then proceeded to give Jon the beatdown of his life. Punches and kicks rained down like a storm upon Jon mercilessly. He felt his lip split, his ribs crack, his right eye had blood in it and his left eye swollen completely shut before the Night King stopped his brutal attack.

  
Jon coughed out blood and tried to get up, but he fell forward onto his hands and knees weakly. His armour was cracked and hundreds of scales were missing, exposing the skin on his arms to the frigid cold weather. His cape was tattered and Jon felt weak for the first time in years, but he needed to get up.

  
“ _The last enemy is Death, and Death has never tasted defeat_ ,” said the Night King.

  
Jon looked up and offered up a bloody grin at his new nemesis, and as the Night King's nails lengthened into claws, a pillar of blood-red fire appeared between them, making the Night King stumble backwards. From the pillar stepped out a tall man in pitch black armour that covered his entire body from head to toe. His helm covered his face and had two pairs of metal horns coming out of the side, and out of nowhere, a longsword appeared out of his right hand.

  
The new warrior threw balls of red energy at the Night King, who parried them away but was forced to retreat when the warrior began throwing weapons of all kinds at him. Once the Night King was a safe distance away, the figure retreated back to Jon and picked him up, then suddenly Jon was aware that he was on a ship.

  
“Jon!” yelled several voices. More than a few hands grabbed him and held him up, and a cloth was pressed against his right eyes to wipe the blood. Once it was cleared away, Jon angrily demanded to be taken to the edge of the deck. From there, he saw the destruction and bodies that completely littered where Hardhome once lay. He saw the Night King clearly, surrounded by his lieutenants. There was a challenging glint in his eyes as he raised his hands up.

  
Bodies twitched on the ground before getting up slowly. Hundreds thousands, then tens of thousands of dead bodies all rose as one, their eyes blue and dead. Jon felt his jaw drop open in horror as the dead awoke as slaves to the servants of the God of Death, and they all watched silently as the ships retreated from the massacre.

  
“We're doomed,” said someone who sounded like Arianne next to Jon. Jon wanted nothing more to sleep, but a ruckus behind him caused him to turn. Arya was standing with her knife at Jon's rescuer's throat, while Theon stood behind him with his trident pointed at the warrior's back, Sansa's eyes were glowing green and Arianne had summoned her water powers. Gendry's right palm was aimed at the warrior's head, while many of the other people looked tired yet wary.

  
“Who the Hells are you?!” demanded Arya angrily. Almost everyone was covered in blood and tired as well, but they were still ready to keep fighting as well.

  
“I am the God of War, and I just saved your boy king,” said the warrior in a condescending tone.

  
“And I thank you for that,” said Jon in a rugged voice. “But you need to remove your helmet.”

  
The War God seemed to hesitate for a moment before shrugging, then his helmet vanished. Both Arianne and Uncle Ned swore loudly, while Jon’s fist clenched in anger. The others all looked shocked, though Arya looked ready to slit the newcomer's throat.

  
Despite his severe injuries, Jon had just come from a battle and thus his blood was boiling, so he had no qualms about wanting to punch Tywin Lannister in the face, regardless of if he saved his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the God of War explains his reasons for coming to the rescue, Jon mourns the loss of his hammer, questions his own leadership and has to deal with a very angry Goddess of Spring.


	12. Matters of Life and Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while, I got sick and then uni startedup again but now I'm back.

The captain's quarters of the ship was filled to the brim of gods and lords, all of them surrounding Tywin Lannister, the new God of War. The air was thick with tension as everyone glared at the Lord of Casterly Rock with varying degrees of hate towards the man. Robb and Father were glaring ice-cold daggers at the back of his head, Arya was leaning against the table with her hand casually gripping the hilt of one of her fan blades, Gendry looked confused but had his armour ready, Arianne was causally warping a stream of water around her hand but her face looking filled with rage, and while Theon looked mildly entertained by the tension, his eyes were hard and the grip on his trident tight. Sitting on the chair behind the desk was Jon, who was being tended to by Sansa as she crouched next to him.

  
Jon's wounds were severe. Several of his ribs were either broken or fractured, his armour dented almost beyond repair, a fractured wrist, cracked cheekbone and a heavily-bloodied face. Thankfully, Sansa's powers had helped to heal almost all of it, but there would be permanent scars, especially the one over his right eye that crossed from his brow down to his cheek. Sansa noted how grim and angry he looked, and every now and again she noticed how his fingers would occasionally spark with electricity as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

  
Despite the thick tension, Lord Tywin seemed unfazed, even appearing bored if Sansa was being honest with herself. He had always had a commanding presence, even as a mortal, but now that he was a god it seemed that influence had increased tenfold.

  
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now,” growled Jon menacingly.

  
“Well, I did save your life,” drawled Lord Tywin.

  
“You probably had an ulterior motive for that,” said Father. “You wouldn't risk your own neck unless you had a good reason either.”

  
“And my reasoning is this,” began Lord Tywin. “The God of War came to me and told me that keeping my grandson on the throne will matter little if the Dead get past the Wall.”

  
“Joffrey has no claim to the Iron Throne,” said Arya. “He and his brother and sister are the result of your eldest son and daughter being horny for each other.”

  
“Mere gossip from the commonfolk,” waved off Lord Tywin.

  
“It is not gossip if Cersei confessed to me personally,” retorted Father. “It was why I was supposed to be executed.”

  
Lord Tywin paused at that as he glared at the Warden of the North. For a moment, Sansa feared that her father’s life was in danger, but Tywin turned away from him to face Jon again.

  
“Now who leads you? This boy,” Tywin stressed the word as he glared down at Jon, “who knows nothing of military tactics and nearly died because he tried to play at being a hero, losing the source of his powers in the process? You need a real tactician.”

  
“We have Lord Stark and many other lords who have extensive military history,” said Jon through gritted teeth.

  
“Yet none of them have the added bonus of being the literal God of War,” said Tywin. “I now know every strategy imaginable. Even now I have thought of over thirty-four ways of killing every single one of you, all with that little quill resting by King Jon's elbow.”

  
Sansa shared an uneasy glance with Arya, and the Shadow Goddess quickly knocked the quill away in case Lord Tywin got any ideas. Sansa did not doubt that Tywin could do it, even if he was outnumbered severely. The man was infamous for his brutality in warfare, and his cunning had no equal. Combine that with godlike abilities and, well, Sansa privately thought that Tywin was more dangerous than even Jon. And who knew what his powers were.

  
“So what do you want?” asked Jon.

  
“I want my legacy to continue for a thousand years,” answered Lord Tywin. “The decisions made by my children and their children have left the realm unstable a ripe for a war that could tear the whole realm apart. Joffrey and Cersei send out the Mountain to quell any dispute, but it leaves those affected feeling bitter and more rebellious than before.”

  
“And you want to rectify that,” said Jon.

  
“You catch on fast,” said Lord Tywin.

  
“But how does coming here help that?” asked Robb.

  
“It is simple. If I pledge my forces to fighting the Great War and am instrumental in helping end the Long Night, the stories will sing of my family for generations,” answered Lord Tywin.

  
“But you have already pledged your House to Joffrey Baratheon,” pointed out Jon, “and to turn against him is to turn against your own kin.”

  
“If Joffrey's parents are who you say they are, then the only child I have is Tyrion,” said Lord Tywin in a tone that suggested he absolutely hated the idea of that actually being true. Sansa could not fault him for that. Being the father of twins who slept with each other and pretended their child was another's was disgusting enough, and to think Sansa had once thought herself in love with Joffrey.

  
“So all of this is to ensure your legacy and House’s survival,” said Father in a disgusted tone.

  
“Is not that the sole reason noble houses exist, Lord Stark?” questioned Lord Tywin. “We fight wars, sell our children to the highest bidder, ensure alliances, all so that our legacies can continue on to the next generation. Unlike many, I am not afraid to admit it.”

  
Father looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he remained silent, the muscles in his jaw clenching tightly.

  
“So what would you have of me?” asked Jon. “In exchange for your assistance, what do you want?”

  
“Alliances and places of honour,” answered Lord Tywin. “I want relationships with our people to be stronger, and the best way to do that is through marriage.”

  
“I will not be a bartering chip for you to place on a table,” sneered Jon.

  
“Indeed. Yet you have cousins, I have unmarried nieces and nephews, and many other lords and ladies have children of age,” said Lord Tywin.

Sansa felt her heart seize up in fear. After the disaster that was Joffrey and seeing his true nature, she never wanted to be in a marriage with someone she did not know. She wanted the kind of man her father had promised, someone good and kind and honourable. Someone like Jon.  
Sansa looked at Jon, and she saw that his face was hardened yet unreadable.

  
“I will... consider all options. But it is not my place to decide the futures of my family,” said Jon slowly. “That is the responsibility of their parents.”

  
Lord Tywin looked like he disbelieved that notion, but he nodded his head anyway.

  
“But you also mentioned places of honour,” continued Jon, “what did you mean by that?”

  
“I wish to be your Lord Hand,” offered Lord Tywin.

  
“I already have a Hand, my uncle, Lord Eddard Stark,” said Jon.

  
“Be that as it may, I have experience in the position,” countered Lord Tywin.

  
“As have I,” retorted Father coldly.

  
“Yet you have no knowledge of how Southron politics work, neither are you the God of War, or any god, for that matter,” replied Lord Tywin. He looked at Jon again. “Face it, Your Grace. You need my skills.”

  
“And what would those be?” asked Arya.

  
“Knowledge of all warfare tactics, dark energy manipulation, mastery over all weapons, teleportation, influence over emotions to increase aggression and my power grows with more conflict,” said Lord Tywin.

  
Everyone shared a look with each other, and even Jon appeared stunned. Sansa couldn't doubt that Lord Tywin would be an invaluable asset to the wars ahead, and he was offering himself freely.

  
“I will have to think upon it,” said Jon. But for now, I can promise you safety amongst our ranks until our return to Winterfell.”

  
“There will be no need for that, Your Grace,” said Lord Tywin. “I will be returning to King's Landing now to convince my fool of a daughter to surrender to you.”

  
The War God did not waste time, and before everyone he vanished in a plume of red fire.

  
“I was hoping that he would confirm whether or not he could actually shit gold,” grumbled Theon disappointedly.

  
“His ego is great enough he might actually believe his shit is worth the same as gold,” said Robb with a humourless laugh. But Sansa could tell that nobody felt like laughing. It had been a long and horrific day.

  
Jon sighed and asked, “How many Free Folk survived?”

  
“Less than twenty-five thousand, Your Grace,” said Father.

  
A quarter of who was at Hardhome, thought Sansa sadly. The information seemed to cast a heavy blanket of despair upon the cabin as Jon sank in his chair, seemingly deflated. Sansa knew what the young king was thinking: he was blaming himself for being too arrogant, for not saving enough people, for nearly dying in his very first battle as king. It was creating a heavy burden on Jon's shoulders, and not even his incredible strength could lift it.

  
“Leave me,” said Jon. As everyone moved for the door, he added, “Not you, Sansa.”

  
Sansa frowned, but stayed where she was as everyone filed out. Once the door was closes, Jon sighed heavily and leaned forward in his chair, burying his face in his hands. It wasn't proper, considering the dark situation, but Sansa couldn't help but stare at the hard, bulging muscles of his arms. They still had a few scars and blood on them, but those would heal in time. Gods, what would it be like to touch-

  
_Pull it together Stark_ , Sansa mentally chided herself. A man she cared about was on the verge of a breakdown, and here she was checking him out.

  
“It's not your fault,” she said quietly.

  
Jon let out a laugh completely devoid of humour as he leaned back in his chair again. “Isn't it? I was the one who made this plan, and less than a quarter of the people I planned to save didn't survive. The Death God just gained itself the largest army the world has ever seen.”

  
“You did what you could,” said Sansa. “We were up against an enemy that we didn't know fully. But now we know who is the Death God's Champion.”

  
“But at what cost?” said Jon. “The Night King destroyed Mjolnir.”

  
“Is that what weighs on you? The loss of your hammer?” asked Sansa.

  
“No,” said Jon, giving her a meaningful look that betrayed how torn up he was inside. “There is something else.”

  
“What is it?” asked Sansa.

  
“I...” Jon hesitated, which made Sansa wonder how bad it was. “While I was in Dorne treating with the Martells, I did something. Something dishonourable. It was right before you sent your message warning about Hardhome.”

  
The ship creaked lowly as Jon paused, looking as though he was trying to reign in his emotions. “Princess Arianne came to see me in my chambers, and we...”

  
Sansa felt her heart sink. Was Jon trying to tell her that he had lain with the Dornish princess?

  
“What did you do Jon?” Sansa pushed quietly.

  
“I almost slept with her,” said Jon. “We were about to, but your message interrupted.”

  
It felt like a knife had been thrust into Sansa's heart, and she took a step back from the king. How much was almost? Was it simply kissing? Or had their clothes come off and they were already in bed? And why did Sansa feel so betrayed? It wasn't like she was married to Jon, or even betrothed. But some small part of her had wished that she could be more than a cousin or friend to him.

  
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Sansa. “I am not your wife, neither am I anything like that to you.”

  
“But I wish you were,” said Jon. “I had plans of asking your father for permission to court you when I returned.”

  
Sansa felt anger flare up inside her. “Well obviously you didn't really want me if you tried to get under Princess Arianne's skirts,” she snapped.

  
Jon frowned in confusion. “But I do! Like you, that is,” he insisted.

  
“Jon, you are a smart man but when it comes to women you are as bad as they come,” said Sansa. “You cannot simply say to me ‘Sansa, I like you and I wish to court you, but I also nearly fucked another woman the other day.’”

  
Jon's eyes widened at Sansa's bad language, and though she knew it wasn't proper to address someone, let alone the king that way, right now Sansa didn't care. But before Jon could say another word, she turned around and headed for the door.

  
“Sleep well, Your Grace,” she said coolly before slamming the door behind her.

* * *

  
Sansa did not speak to Jon for the rest of the trip back to Winterfell, or even during his stay at the Stark home before he left for Essos with Arya and Gendry. Jon tried to corner her at every opportunity, but she would avoid him by either distracting him with animals or vanishing in a shower of winter roses. It was infuriating, but Jon couldn't do anything about it unfortunately.

  
He had also been avoiding Arianne, who on more than one occasion had tried to corner him to ‘finish what they started' as she put it. But Jon had lost all interest in the princess of Dorne, even going so far as to accuse her of trying to seduce the king. Arianne had not taken that well, and she too refused to talk to him. Arya had found it all rather amusing, partly because she never liked Arianne to begin with and mostly because she was angry at him for hurting Sansa.

  
The infighting between the three gods had caused some tension in the council meetings, leaving those who knew the story frustrated and those who didn't very confused. Jon needed to rectify the mistakes he had made, because the realm wouldn't survive if they weren't united.  
The day before he was due to leave for Essos to visit his aunt Daenerys, Jon visited the godswood. He needed some guidance from his master, and the godswood was the place where he could reach him. Jon walked past the pool and placed a hand on the white bark of the weirwood tree, and whispered, “My Lord.”

  
There was a distant rumble of thunder, and then a pillar of rainbow light fell from the sky behind Jon. When the light disappeared, a tall, heavily muscular man in armour similar to Jon's was standing before him with long red hair tied back and a beard that was braided. He held no weapons, and his eyes were as blue as lightning.

  
“You broke my hammer,” said the Thunder God as Jon knelt in front of him.

  
“I am sorry, the Night King was stronger than I thought,” said Jon.

  
“You are not to blame. Myself and the other gods all underestimated Death's power,” said the Thunder God. He then bid Jon to stand.

  
“Then how do we beat it?” asked Jon, “without my hammer I...”

  
“Last I recalled you were the God of Thunder, not the God of Hammers,” said the Thunder God with a small smile.

  
“I thought the hammer was the source of my power?” said Jon.

  
“It was never the source of your strength, but merely a means of controlling and focussing it,” answered the Thunder God. “If the hammer were the source of your power, I myself would have ceased to exist the moment I entrusted it to you.”

  
“So how do I use my power?” asked Jon.

  
“That will come when you are ready,” said the Thunder God. “But first, you must travel to Essos and recruit your aunt. Then, travel to the Forge of Valyria, where the Fire Giants dwell. Fashion a new weapon, one powerful enough to kill a god.”

  
“The Forge of Valyria? Where is that?” said Jon in confusion.

  
“Your friend Gendry will know,” was all the Thunder God said in response.

  
“Who haven't given me very straightforward answers,” grumbled Jon.

  
“They weren't supposed to be. You cannot grow as a god and king if you can't work for it,” replied the God of Thunder. He then turned around and grinned at Jon. “And by the way, try and fix your problems with Lady Sansa. My wife does not take too kindly to the rift you have with her chosen champion.”

  
And with that, the rainbow light appeared again and took the Thunder God away, leaving Jon alone in the godswood once more. Jon sighed as he thought on everything his mentor had told him. Search for his true power, unite with Daenerys, forge a new weapon in Valyria. All many difficult things with no real solutions.

  
“Wait a second, you're married to the Goddess of Spring?!” called out Jon suddenly to the sky. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer, but it gave Jon the motivation needed to speak with Sansa.

  
He sought her out, finding her in her chambers. She was using her powers to create a cloak made out of thin, string-like vines of various colour to create a cloak that shimmered like a rainbow every time it was moved. Jon was mesmerised for a brief moment, right up until Sansa looked up from her work to give him a cool look.

  
“Can I help you, Your Grace?” asked Sansa.

  
“I uh...” Jon trailed off. “I’m about to leave.”

  
“Well, I wish you good fortune in Essos,” said Sansa before she turned back to her work.

  
“Sansa, I wanted to speak with you,” pleaded Jon, taking a step forward hesitantly.

  
“There is nothing to talk about,” said Sansa.

  
“Yes, there is,” insisted Jon. “You haven't spoken to me since I told you I had almost slept with Princess Arianne.”

  
“It does not concern me regarding who you decide to share your bed with Your Grace,” said Sansa.

  
“Don't call me that,” snapped Jon. He was beginning to feel his temper rise, but he had to reign it in before he did something stupid.

  
“It's your title,” replied Sansa.

  
“I don't care. When you call me that it makes me feel like there is a wall between us, like the one we had growing up as children,” said Jon. “I don't like that.”

  
“There's a lot of things you don't like,” said Sansa, “but apparently water goddesses isn't one of them.”

  
“Oh for crying out loud, stop being jealous of something that never happened!” yelled Jon as he finally snapped.

  
Sansa stood up abruptly, and the trees outside groaned a slow, angry sound that echoed through the godswood. She stared at Jon with a blazing look in her eyes as she took a step forward, then slapped Jon across the cheek.

  
“How dare you,” she seethed through her teeth.

  
“I don’t see you denying it,” growled Jon. “There would only be one reason why you are so angry with me.”

  
“Do you want me to admit that I feel betrayed? That I thought we had developed a connection?!” snapped Sansa.

  
“Maybe it would help!” yelled Jon.

  
“Then fine! I admit it!” Sansa shouted back. “I have grown to care for you beyond a familial relationship, and while you were gone I thought you had as well! But I can see that I was wrong, and have yet again been proven how much of a stupid girl I still am!”

  
Jon's anger instantly disappeared. He took a step closer and extended a hand, but Sansa moved back, away from his reach. Jon felt a little hurt at that, but he lowered his hand and sighed.

  
“Sansa, you know you aren't stupid,” he said. “You are the Goddess of Spring, and you are needed to fight this war.”

  
“Shut up and get out,” said Sansa. Jon's eyes widened in shock. What in Seven Hells was going on?

  
“I uh...” was all Jon could say. Without another word, he left Sansa’s chambers, feeling more confused than ever about the mystery that was women. Was it something he said?

  
Jon continued to think on his brief argument with Sansa as the ship sailed from White Harbour towards Essos several hours later. Accompanying him were Arya and Gendry, as well as gifts and proof of the threat of the Others, or in other words, a fallen White Walker’s ice sword. Ideally Jon would have preferred an actual wight, but in the heat of the massacre there had only been time to grab a single weapon.  
“What are you thinking of?” asked Arya as she walked up to stand next to Jon on the ship's deck to look over the ocean.

  
“A great many things,” said Jon.

  
“Is Sansa one of them?” said Arya. When Jon didn't respond, she continued. “You know she's pissed at you for what you did.”

  
“Oh really? And what gave you that idea?” asked Jon sarcastically.

  
“Well, she told me,” said Arya. Then she scowled at her cousin. “It was stupid of you to do what you did.”

  
“You think I don't know that already?” said Jon. Then he quickly added, “And I didn't want to do it, by the way. Arianne forced herself upon me.”

  
“Doesn't sound like you resisted that much, did you?” said Arya dryly.

  
“She's the Water Goddess!” protested Jon.

  
“And you're the Thunder God! The strongest of us all!” snapped Arya. “If you actually didn't want to fuck that woman, you could have easily pushed her off.”

  
Jon scoffed. “Oh, and I suppose you think I'm just a horny bastard who was eager to fuck the first thing that spread its legs for me, don't you?” he snorted.

  
“Yeah, that's exactly what I think,” said Arya.

  
Jon scowled, pointed a finger at Arya and opened his mouth to argue, but when he couldn't think of anything he growled and dropped his hand angrily. If Arya was going to try and piss him off, she was already doing a very good job of it.

  
“I don’t need to explain myself to you, I know what happened,” he said grumpily.

  
“But does Sansa know that?” asked Arya.

  
“I already told her what happened!” yelled Jon.

  
“Did you tell her without yelling?”

  
“Yes!”

  
“Did you tell her how you feel about her?”

  
“Ye-“ Jon stopped. No, he hadn't actually. Jon sighed deeply and smacked his head against the rail of the ship. “she wouldn't believe me if I told her right now," he said.

"She will if you give her time," said Arya.

"Women are confusing,” he grumbled.

  
“I can't argue with that,” agreed Arya, “but that's why I'm here to help.”

  
“Please, teach me your mysterious ways,” drawled Jon.

  
“Well, first things first,” began Arya, “You've got to-“

  
Arya stopped speaking, though Jon kept listening even thought he couldn't see her. When she took too long, Jon sighed and looked up, then frowned. Arya seemed to be stuck in place, her whole body frozen still as a statue even though her eyes were open.

  
“Er... Arya?” said Jon. He waved a hand in front of his sister's face, but she didn't respond at all. Jon poked her in the shoulder a couple of times just to be sure, then looked around. Everything seemed to have frozen still, including the very ocean itself. “What the?”

  
“Jon,” said a familiar voice. Jon whipped around to see Bran standing in front of him, his legs seemingly healed.

  
“Bran? Your legs...” began Jon in confusion.

  
“Are still useless, but I'm here as an illusion, “ said Bran. “You do not have a lot of time left.”

  
“What do you mean?” asked Jon.

  
“I mean that the Night King is almost upon the Wall already,” said Bran. “Events have forced the Death God to draw its hand out early, and we are running out of time until the Wall falls. My father is currently sending all of our might back to the Wall to prepare for its defence, and Sansa has already sent a message to Lord Tywin asking for aid.”

  
“Then I have to go back!” exclaimed Jon.

  
“No, you must continue on to unite with your aunt,” encouraged Bran. “Send her to Westeros with as much haste as you can, then head for the Forge of Valyria with as much haste as you can. But send Arya back with Daenerys as well, she will be needed here.”

  
Jon growled in frustration, then grabbed a nearby barrel and threw it as hard as he could. The moment the barrel left his hands, it froze mid air which only frustrated Jon further, but Bran placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  
“How can we beat the God of Death?” wondered Jon hopelessly.

  
“Together,” answered Bran.

  
Jon looked at his little cousin. “We'll lose.”

  
“Then we'll do that together too.” Bran looked behind his shoulder as if an unheard voice had called his name. “I have to go, but please, do whatever you have to do to gain Daenerys' trust, then leave for Valyria with Gendry as soon as you can.”

  
Bran turned around and vanished, and the second he did so time resumed. Arya kept talking about a long forgotten conversation, while the barrel hurtled over the horizon, disappearing forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Jon meets Daenerys finally then heads for Valyria.


	13. Thunderous Growth

Meereen was quite possibly the largest city Jon had ever seen in his life. It was far larger than King's Landing and even grander in scope. Tall sand-coloured buildings taller than any castle stood tall and proud, and the top of a coliseum could be seen peeking over the roofs of the buildings. But even they were nothing in comparison to the great pyramids that seemed to scrape the sky. Jon wondered if the pyramids were taller than the Wall.

  
Jon's ship, flying Targaryen colours proudly on the sails, docked into Meereen's docks, and Arya led the way while Gendry looked around with a stunned expression on his face at the magnificent sight before him. Jon walked between the two of them, and caught them staring at each other on more than one occasion. Waiting for them was a group of Unsullied warriors flanking a young girl with dark skin and wearing loose, slightly revealing skirts made of thin silk.

  
“King Jon Targaryen?” asked the girl in a crisp accent.

  
“That would be me,” said Jon.

  
“I am Missandei, Queen Daenerys' handmaid,” introduced the girl. “On behalf of Her Grace, I extend her welcome upon you and your colleagues.”

  
“Uh... thank you,” said Jon awkwardly, earning a sigh of frustration from Arya. “Where is my aunt?”

  
“She awaits your arrival in the great pyramid,” answered Missandei. “If you would follow me?”

  
Jon and the others all followed Missandei and her entourage through the city. He spotted many smallfolk going about their day today lives, though the sight of several Unsullied guarding a house with bloodstain on the walls caught his attention. When he asked Missandei about it, her face grew sad.

  
“Not everyone in Meereen agrees with Queen Daenerys' methods,” she said.

  
“And those methods are?” questioned Arya.

  
“The Queen aims to abolish slavery from Essos entirely, and while many are grateful for all that she has done, some do not wish the tradition to die. Meereen was founded upon the backs of slaves, after all.”

  
“Well that's neat,” commented Gendry.

  
“Are you having difficulty rooting out the problem?” asked Jon.

  
“A little,” admitted Missandei. “The Sons of the Harpy have many powerful supporters, but we have no proof to punish them yet.”

  
Jon hummed, but said no more. Missandei led all of them into the pyramid, walking through winding corridors guarded extensively. When they came into the throne room, Jon whistled lowly. The throne itself was small and white, yet it was atop a great dais high in the air. A mismatch of Unsullied and Dothraki guards stood every few stairs on the dais. Yet seated on the throne was a young woman and quite honestly the shortest yet most beautiful woman Jon had ever seen. She was in a white dress that hugged her petite form, and her silvery hair had several braids running through it expertly. Her skin was fair yet tanned slightly, and her violet eyes shone brightly with a mixture of superiority and curiosity. Flanking the woman were two guards, one an Unsullied warrior and the other none other than Ser Barristan Selmy himself, the legendary Kingsguard knight.

  
Jon himself was wearing the same suit he wore when he visited Dorne, and Arya, of course, was in her usual dark leathers with numerous weapons strapped everywhere, though she also wore a cloak made by Gendry out of pure shadow, that rippled like dark waves behind her back. Gendry had a simple black and yellow jerkin and breeches on, though Jon knew the silver pendant that hung down to his chest stored his legendary armour.

  
Missandei walked up the dais to stand a little in front of the queen before loudly declaring, “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Meereen and Mother of Dragons.”

  
“That’s a bit excessive,” muttered Arya a little too loudly, and Jon had to glare at her. Arya merely rolled her eyes and loudly said, “This is Jon of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, the Stormcaller, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, God of Thunder and the biggest pain in my arse.”

  
Gendry snorted at the last part, though no one else seemed amused. Jon rolled his eyes before stepping forward and saying, “My aunt, thank you for your hospitality. This is my cousin, Lady Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon.”

  
“You are three months late,” said Daenerys.

  
“My apologies. But issues arose across the Seven Kingdoms that I had to deal with personally,” said Jon.

  
“I find it difficult to believe that there are any problems large enough to delay a meeting with me,” said Daenerys.

  
“Relocating twenty-five thousand Free Folk South of the Wall while being harassed by the Death God's minions is a pretty good excuse, Your Grace,” said Arya.

  
Ser Barristan frowned at that. “You moved Wildlings South of the Wall?” he asked.

  
“There were supposed to be one-hundred thousand, but most of them were slaughtered,” said Jon.

  
“By this, God of Death?” asked Daenerys disbelievingly.

  
“By its minions, the Others,” corrected Jon. “It is why I have come here.”

  
“To force me to serve you, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” said Daenerys.

  
“No, because if we don’t band together, we'll all die,” said Jon.

  
Daenerys let out a short breath that sounded like a scoff before standing up. She began to walk down the stairs slowly, the whole time not taking her eyes off Jon.

  
“Do you know how I came to be Queen, my nephew?” asked Daenerys.

  
Jon sensed that the question was rhetorical, but he said, “Great looks and charisma?”

  
Daenerys' eyes flashed with anger, but she seemed to reign it in. “I have been on the run from assassins my whole life, moving from one place to another, always looking over my shoulder” she said. “I have been sold like a common brood mare by my own brother, raped, defiled, but I have managed to achieve the impossible. I hatched the first dragons seen in over one-hundred and fifty years, freed thousands of slaves, conquered cities against all odds.

  
“The odds have been completely against me since I was born, yet I have won because it is my destiny to win.”

  
Arya burst out laughing, surprising everyone except Jon and Gendry. The younger girl's giggles echoed through the throne room, creating an air thick with tension that seemed to grow with every passing second. When Arya was down, she wiped a tear from her eye and looked at Daenerys the same way a mother looked at her spoilt child before chastening them.

  
“I'm sorry, I'm just reminded of how much the Tyrells are conceited douchebags, but boy, they have nothing on you Your Grace!” laughed Arya.

  
“Arya, stop it!” hissed Jon quietly.

  
“No no, let me finish,” said Arya. “Listen here Princess Daenerys, you may truly have been through all these things, and they might all be true, but unfortunately you're not the only one here who's special. I'm the Goddess of Shadow, and I can travel anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye, turn completely invisible and speak with creatures of the night.

  
“Gendry here is the God of the Forge. He can make any weapon and armour, including magical things that I don’t even have the name for.”

  
Daenerys' eyes narrowed in hate towards Gendry, who looked surprised. “Gendry Baratheon, the usurper's spawn?” she seethed.

  
“Legitimised son,” said Jon. “His father left no legitimate heirs, so I made him a true Baratheon.”

  
“You should have killed him,” snapped Daenerys.

  
“I didn’t know that Robert was my father until a few years ago when King Jon rescued me from King's Landing,” said Gendry. “I may have the Baratheon look, but I am nothing like my father.”

  
“His blood runs within you,” said Daenerys accusingly.

  
“Just as Aerys the Mad's blood runs through ours aunt,” said Jon forcefully. “You cannot lay the sins of the father upon the child.”

  
Daenerys looked unconvinced, but she remained silent.

  
“And of course Jon. He is the God of Thunder and the strongest of us all,” said Arya. “He was the first to discover the threat of the Others, the first one chosen by the gods, the greatest warrior in existence. He fought the Mountain to a standstill, killed dozens of white walkers and battled the Death God's general the Night King. He is the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms, and he's going to stop the Long Night.  
“So you see, Princess Daenerys,” finished Arya, “You are not the only one who is special.”

  
If looks could kill, Daenerys would have killed Arya a hundred times over, but the younger woman didn't even flinch under the queen's gaze. However, Daenerys relented and turned back to Jon. “Shall we see to my dragons then?” she asked.

  
“Now?” said Jon in surprise.

  
“There is no time like the present,” replied Daenerys.

* * *

  
The two dragons were impressive, Jon had to admit. They were as tall as wolves yet longer than most animals their size, and their molten-gold eyes showed a fierce intelligence within them. The larger of the two was emerald green with bronze horns, claws and wings, while the smaller was gold and cream. It was the green one that drew Jon’s attention the most however, and it seemed to be of the same mind as it stared intently back at him. The magic within Jon told him that he could bond with this particular beast the same as he had done with Ghost.

  
“That one is Rhaegal,” said Daenerys.

  
“After my father,” said Jon quietly.

  
“Indeed,” said Daenerys. The way she spoke made Jon suspect that his aunt didn't believe he was a Targaryen.

  
But he ignored it as he carefully approached the two dragons, his hands raised in front of him carefully. He'd spent enough time in the company of direwolves to know that some animals thought themselves above all others, and he suspected that dragons were the most proud of all creatures. The golden dragon, Viserion mostly ignored him until he was standing right in front of it, then it flapped its wings aggressively and hissed, a stream of flame shooting from its mouth.

  
“Where's the third dragon?” asked Gendry.

  
“We don't know,” answered Ser Barristan. “Drogon abandoned us a few weeks before we took Meereen, and has not been seen since.”

  
“We will need all three,” said Jon.

  
“You will have to make do for now until Drogon returns,” said Daenerys stiffly.

  
“I have no idea how to make them bigger,” said Jon to Arya and Gendry.

  
“Reach out to them with your mind,” said Arya. “When I have to talk with night animals, I have to push my magic forward towards them.”

  
“I don’t know how to do that without Mjolnir,” said Jon.

  
“You don’t need the damn hammer, you've still got lightning flowing through your veins!” snapped Arya.

  
Jon scowled at the fiery Stark, but he sighed and looked back at the dragons. They were both staring silently at him, seemingly waiting for him. Jon hesitated for a brief moment before stretching his hands outwards and doing what Arya told him to do. For a long moment, he felt nothing, until deep within him he felt a rumble rising to the surface, like a storm arriving from the ocean to hit the coast.

  
“My Queen!” shouted an Unsullied warrior that arrived with a desperate look in his eyes. He said something in Valyrian that made Daenerys and Missandei's face look horrified, while the others except for Jon remained confused.

  
“What is it?” asked Arya.

  
“The Sons of the Harpy have launched an assault on the city!” exclaimed Daenerys. She then gave Jon a dark look. “You'd best hurry up and finish whatever it is you're doing!”

  
“I will when you all shut up!” growled Jon as his eyebrows furrowed together.

  
Small tendrils of blue electricity slithered around his hand and fingertips, and high above them, the shy darkened as storm clouds gathered. Jon's eyes glowed bright blue as the electricity travelled from his fingers all the way through the rest of his body, lighting up the air around him and forcing the others away to a safe distance. The dragons, however, welcomed the sight as they waddled awkwardly closer to the Thunder God as he continued to charge up his powers, emitting high-pitched shrieks that could be barely heard over the rumbling thunder.  
Finally, Jon let out a roaring bellow as he looked up to the sky. The largest lightning bolt ever summoned shot down and struck Jon, and the intensity of the blast was so strong that everyone except for him and the dragons were knocked off their feet. The sand around Jon turned to glass as it was vaporised from the intense heat, and Jon roared again before directing the lightning blast at the two dragons. Swirls of lightning wrapped around Rhaegal and Viserion, startling the creatures. The light engulfed them, completely surrounding and expanding quickly and dramatically, and very soon the roaring thunder was greeted by the chorus of much deeper and ferocious shrieking.

  
The lightning began to disperse, and as it did so Jon felt his strength begin to fade and fatigue seep into his muscles and bones. He dropped down to his knees, the scar over his right eye tingling, and he looked up to see the two dragons, now twice the size of Ghost staring down at him.

  
“Holy shit,” muttered Jon before his mind went blank.

* * *

  
Jon awoke later in a soft bed, his torso bare. He sat up groggily and looked around, takin note of how pleasant the room seemed to be. It was large and spacious, with a balcony that overlooked all of Meereen. Jon spotted his armour lain neatly on a nearby chair, so he hopped out of the bed and grabbed his armour. Jon noticed that it was different than what he was wearing when he passed out: it was entirely black, including the discs, and was both simplistic yet magnificent in design. As Jon put on the suit, he noticed that it had no scale sleeves, nor a cape, showing off his stature impressively. Jon suspected Gendry might have made it, which made him wonder just how long he was unconscious for.

  
Jon went out to the balcony as he slipped the suit over his head, fastening it on. He noticed very quickly that there were some parts of the city that were smouldering, though not much compared to the still-burning ships in the harbour. What had happened while he was gone?

  
The sound of a creaking door opening and closing drew Jon's attention back to the inside of the chamber, and he saw Daenerys come in.

  
“You're awake,” she said.

  
“An excellent observation,” drawled Jon.

  
Daenerys frowned as she came closer. “You have been asleep for three days, and much has happened,” she said.

  
“Such as?” asked Jon.

  
“The Sons of the Harpy have been annihilated, as well as the Wise Masters who were secretly funding the movement. Those are their ships currently burning in the bay,” said Daenerys. “Your cousin and the Usurper's boy also played a role in quelling the rebellion very well.”

  
“So I take it your dragons were the key?” asked Jon.

  
“They're larger than anything I've ever seen,” said Daenerys, a hint of awe in her voice. “I only wish Drogon were here to share in the glory.”

  
Jon repressed a shudder to think of what three dragons could do to an army, and he approached his aunt. “Can you reach out to your third dragon?”

  
“Possibly. There have been reports of a smaller dragon coming closer to the city,” said Daenerys hopefully.

  
“Good. Once the last one has grown, you can send them and your armies to Westeros to aid,” said Jon.

  
“So soon?” exclaimed Daenerys. “It will take some time to organise and then travel.”

  
“Arya's teleportation powers grow stronger every day. Very soon she'll be powerful enough to transport you and your dragons to the North. Your armies will have to travel under the leadership of your best generals,” said Jon as he began to pack things into a small rucksack.

  
“And where will you go?” asked Daenerys.

  
“Valyria. I need to make a weapon powerful enough to kill a god.”

  
“Shouldn't we all have a weapon like that?”

  
“Oh no, your mind would melt as your body disintegrates around you if you held a weapon like that,” said Jon. “Only the strongest can wield such power without succumbing to it.”

  
“And you think you can wield such a weapon?” questioned Daenerys.

  
“I might be one of the few who can,” answered Jon. “I will be taking Gendry with me, his knowledge should help in my quest.”

  
It was several days later, long after departing Meereen that Jon and Gendry, on a small sailboat only big enough for the two of them, saw the dense fog that hid the secrets of the Doom. A deep rumbling could be constantly heard in the distance that sounded more an earthquake than Jon's thunder, and every now and again, there was a faint flash of red light which would briefly reveal the silhouettes of crumbling ruins.

  
“We're going in that?” said Gendry.

  
“It's the only place we can get what I need to kill the Night King,” said Jon.

  
Gendry sighed and said, “You're crazy, you know that?”

  
“You are not the first to tell me that,” muttered Jon. Suddenly there was a deep roar that reverberated through the air, followed by a flash of light and a mighty whip cracking like two massive boulders colliding. Silence followed after, and Jon felt like every muscle in his body was taut as a drawn bowstring.

  
“What in Seven Hells was that?!” exclaimed Gendry.

  
“I don’t know, but it can't be good,” replied Jon. Without another word, he propelled the boat forward into the fog, towards his destiny.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The Battle of the Wall begins, and the clock is ticking as Jon tries to forge his new weapon.
> 
> Also, there will be a fair bit of time before the next chapter comes around as it will be a multi- POV chapter with lots going on, so it's gonna take a while. Please bear with me on this.


	14. Stormbreaker

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont had seen a lot in his lifetime. He'd seen and fought in wars, been forced to take the black after his House was stained with dishonour, and even fought undead monsters. But watching as multiple gods and goddesses prepared as best as they could for the upcoming battle was a sight to behold. Trees uprooted themselves and walked, roots as thick as towers carved through the earth, and animals of all shapes and sizes amassed around tens of thousands of soldiers. Pillars of water created walls that lined parallel to the enormous wall of ice that Jeor was currently standing on.

  
Not far from Jeor stood the Lady Sansa, Lord Eddard's eldest daughter. Her eyes were glowing green and her hands raised as she manipulated the vegetation to create natural defences, while at the same time silently ordering all the animals to do her bidding. Her younger sister stood not far away, guarding her as she focussed on her work. Jeor knew that far down below, Ned and his son Robb were directing troops alongside all the other lords and commanders of this great army, intermingled with Wildling chieftains and warriors. Of course it would take the end of the world for all people to finally get along, Jeor thought bitterly as his hand flexed on the hilt of his sword.

  
Yet who would have thought that Jon Snow, the bastard-turned lost Targaryen prince would have been the one to bring them all together? And he brought fucking dragons. Or at least, Lady Arya had through her strange shadow magic, along with the woman who controlled them, King Jon's Targaryen aunt.

  
Eventually, Lady Sansa ceased her work as her eyes returned to their normal blue, and she looked over to the Lord Commander. “The Others will be here within a few hours,” she said.

  
“So soon?” said Jeor worryingly. “We aren't ready.”

  
“We're as ready as best as we can be,” said the redheaded woman before looking at her sister. “Let's go warn Father.”

  
Lady Arya nodded silently before a small tornado of shadow warped around them then vanished, leaving Jeor alone upon the top of the Wall with his men.

  
“Take me back to the days where the only thing I had to worry about were Wildlings,” grumbled Jeor.

* * *

  
The ruins of Valyria were dark and inhospitable, thought Jon. They reeked of doom, harbouring the horrific memories of the once great empire's brutal demise within the cracked stone. Every now again, Jon would spot movement out of the corner of his eye, but every time he focussed, it was gone. A thousand eyes and one were boring into the back of his head, and it made him uncomfortable. This was once the home off his ancestors, the greatest empire the known world had ever seen that had lasted for hundreds of years before the gods decided to humble them by destroying them entirely.

  
Gendry looked a little sick as he helped Jon paddle their small boat through the rancid-smelling water of the river, but his face was stoic and ready for whatever lay ahead. Jon admired the young Forge God. He had a brilliant mind and was a good fighter, but he was humble and meek as well. Jon was also surprised to note that Gendry was one of the few people besides himself and his lord uncle who could put up with Arya for more than a few minutes at a time.

  
Jon thought on what was going on back home. Through Sansa's wind messages, he'd learned that all of the North, Vale and Riverlands armies had assembled at the Wall, alongside the remaining Free Folk and all the animals who obeyed Sansa's will. The Reach, Stormlands and Dorne were just south of the Neck, but the Crownlands and Westerlands had yet to be heard of. Just thinking of all those people going into battle without their king to lead them made Jon nervous and sick, and all the more desperate to reach the Forge of Valyria all the more sooner.

  
“Jon,” said Gendry, pulling Jon from his thoughts. He looked back at his friend, who nodded ahead. Jon looked forward to see the fog dissipating to reveal an enormous smouldering volcano that towered higher than anything Jon had ever seen in his life. Ash rose from the crater as small rivers of lava flowed down the blackened mountainside, giving a deep feeling of doom within the two gods' chests.

  
“The Forge,” said Jon quietly to himself. He and Gendry carefully docked their boat on the bank of the stagnant river, and Jon easily pulled it up onto the shore with one hand before grabbing his rucksack. There was no plant life anywhere, just more smouldering ruins and hot steam and smoke rising from fissures in the earth.

  
“Do you know where we need to go?” asked Jon.

  
“We have to climb up the volcano to reach the forge's entrance,” explained Gendry. Then he grinned. “But why do that when I can fly us there?" he added. He touched the pendant on his chest, and it expanded around his body until he was covered in his ‘Destroyer' armour, this time painted black and gold.

  
Jon scoffed. “Uh no thank you, but I can jump my way there,” he said.

  
Gendry shrugged before his armour powered up, and he took off into the sky towards the volcano. Jon rolled his shoulders, took and few fast paces forward then pushed up into the air. He jumped so high he might as well have been flying, but then gravity took hold and he fell down. He leaped magnificently a few more times before reaching a formidable entrance that glowed with the fires within, where Gendry was already waiting.

  
“Shall we?” suggested Gendry.

  
“Let's do this,” agreed Jon.

* * *

  
It was the cold that alerted Robb to the coming of the Others, unnatural and sudden. From the edge of the forest (which had been pushed much further back thanks to Sansa), undead people, animals, giants and even mammoths all lumbered out stiffly. The sight sent a chill sense of dread through all the soldiers who had until now never seen the Army of the Dead, but luckily they all mustered up whatever courage they could and stood firm.

  
The plan was simple; Sansa, Arianne and Theon's defences were to thin out the horde along with Daenerys and her dragons, and though they had accepted that eventually the dead would get through, the Army of the Living would fight and kill what was left. From the top of the Wall, Lord Commander Mormont would command the Night's Watch, while Robb, Father and Lord Randyll Tarly would lead the ground forces.

  
Robb looked at the people around him now. Arya looked eager for battle with a Valyrian steel dagger in one hand and her strange collapsible spear in the other, Father looked grim yet his hands gripped the hilt of his greatsword Ice strongly, Theon looked as nervous as Robb felt, yet his eyes gleamed with an excitement borne of bloodlust. Robb once again made sure the straps of his shield were tight on his arm in order to calm his nerves.

  
It was okay, he’d fought the Others before and survived, and had even killed one of the white walker generals at Hardhome. And he had a much larger army at his back this time, including five direwolves, and house-sized direwolf, four gods and three dragons. They'd be fine. Yet Robb fervently prayed that Jon returned before the battle began. Even without Mjolnir, he was still the greatest of them all, but if he didn't come on time, morale would drop.

  
In the distance, he heard horrific shrieking as the undead began their charge, a horde of monsters that had no discipline or rank. But who needed those things when you were already dead?

  
From high up on the Wall, Sansa and Arianne began to work their magic, and the entire front line of the horde were quickly incapacitated by roots with thorns and long and sharp as swords, as well as water blades cut them to pieces, rendering them useless even if they weren't permanently dead. Thicker roots wrapped around the beastly undead giants and mammoths, holding them still despite their incredible strength. Theon's trident glowed as jets of water pushed many wights back, but in spite of all this, it still wasn't enough.

  
When the Others themselves arrived, riding rotten horses or spiders made of ice, the water jets and walls of water froze solid, rendering them useless. The wights hacked at the roots and animals trying to hold them off, then the ones who got through continued their charge towards the living. Flaming arrows from the Wall sailed over their heads and killed a few of the closer wights, accompanied by Arya's shadow bow that exploded its targets with purple arrows.

  
“This could be the final battle,” muttered Theon.

  
“Then it will be the most glorious battle in all living history,” answered Robbed determinedly. He drew his sword and pointed at the incoming army. “CHARGE!!!” he roared. His cry was met with thousands of voices, all eager to fight to the last, and as one, the host of the Living charged to meet their greatest enemy.

* * *

  
The smell of sulphur was strong the further into the mountain Jon and Gendry went. It was dark, with only the warm light at the end of the passageway their only source of light. Once they reached the end of the tunnel, Jon whistled.

  
Inside the heart of the volcano was the most magnificent forge ever seen. Giant lenses, drums, tools and instruments that had no name were everywhere, and as Jon looked at Gendry, he could have sworn that the Forge God had tears in his eyes. Far below them, magma swirled slowly, bubbling every now and again. Weapons and armour moulds and casts were on display everywhere, as well as ancient runes that were carved into the walls, glowing a fiery orange.

  
“Hello?” called out Jon, his voice echoing through the enormous crater. There was no answer, which made Jon wonder if anyone even lived here anymore. The ground rumbled underneath their feet slightly, and Jon could feel his arms and face warming up from the heat. It was just as well that he was super durable, otherwise he suspected that he would be roasting alive right now.

  
Just then there was a loud roar, and something slammed into Jon's back, sending him flying into the side of a large vat. Gendry was knocked in the opposite direction, and Jon spun around to see an enormous creature made out of shadow and flame, with demonic horns growing out of the side of its head. It let out a deep, rumbling roar before charging at Jon again with a flaming sword in hand, but the Thunder God raised his hands up in surrender. He had no idea how that thing had escaped his notice.

  
“We're not enemies!” he shouted. The monster paused, its molten, pupil-less eyes narrowing. It took a few steps forward, each step shaking the ground before stopping to tower over Jon.

  
“The new God of Thunder,” the monster boomed. Jon slowly stood up on both feet, his arms still raised as a gesture of peace.

  
“I came here because I need help,” he said.

  
“The Army of the Dead fights against you,” said the great beast.

  
“Yes,” confirmed Jon.

  
The monster huffed, and its flaming sword vanished as it stepped away from Jon. “Maelor the Smithing Balrog thinks you will lose,” it said.

  
“Your name is Maelor?” asked Jon.

  
“Yes,” said Maelor.

  
“You were the one who taught the original Forging God his trade,” said Gendry in awe. “You crafted the most legendary weapons in existence!”

  
“And you are here for one more,” said Maelor.

  
“We need a god-killing weapon,” said Jon.

  
“You already have several of those at your disposal,” replied Maelor.

  
“Not any powerful enough to kill the Night King,” retorted Jon.

  
Maelor paused before looking back at Jon. “You seek the king's weapon,” he said.

  
“If that's what it's called then yes, I am,” said Jon.

  
Maelor sat down on the ground, his glowing eyes looking tired. “The Forge has not been activated since the Doom, when I used it to craft the Sea God's trident,” he said.

  
“So the Forge is cold,” said Gendry.

  
Maelor nodded. Jon looked down at the lake of magma down below, and in his personal opinion he thought it looked pretty hot already.

  
“So what do we do?” he asked.

* * *

  
Arya was sweating profusely under her armour as she cut down wights left and right. Nearby, Robb was pounding a giant's skull to pieces with his shield as Theon took down several other wights effortlessly, his golden armour stained in black, congealed blood.

  
From what Arya could tell, the living were holding their own with the mixture of fire, Valyrian steel, dragonglass and godly powers used against the dead. Two giants, one made out of water and the other thick wood and green with thorns sticking out of its shoulders were brawling with four undead giants, their blows so strong that shockwaves reverberated through the air. Many avoided the giants' colossal battle for fear of being trampled. Arya knew that Sansa was inside the giants made of green, having decided that standing atop of the Wall wasn't enough. Princess Arianne however, remained with the Night's Watch.

  
An Other took a swing at Arya, but she expertly dodged under the icy blade and rolled before burying one of her many daggers in its heal. Pale blood oozed out of the wound, though the Other's expression remained impassive before it pulled out the dagger. Arya drew one of her fan blades and charged at the Other, beginning a deadly dance with each other. The white walker eventually lost ground, which Arya took advantage of by throwing her fan blade. It pierced through the Other's forehead, and then the fan blade opened, severing its head in half. The rest of the Other melted into a pool of icy water and frozen bones, and Arya quickly collected her weapons before beginning the dance yet again, this time with an undead snow bear.

  
After quickly dispatching the snow bear, Arya looked around. In some parts of the great battle field, the living were holding the line strongly, but in others, it was quickly becoming apparent that they were about to break. She teleported over to the weakest, hoping her presence would be enough to bolster the soldiers' swiftly failing morale as she quickly ducked and weaved amongst the horde of deathless monsters, slicing at ligaments and tendons, aiming for anything that would either kill or permanently maim.

  
While the monsters were temporarily driven back by her efforts, Arya feared that it wouldn't be enough. They needed Jon, and they needed him now.

* * *

  
“So all I have to do is summon a lightning bolt into the crater to set off a chain reaction That will relight the forges?” asked Jon.

  
“Yes,” said Maelor.

  
“Sounds easy enough,” muttered Jon.

  
“Hold on a second, what kind of weapon are we making here, exactly?” asked Gendry.

  
“The king's weapon, said to be the greatest weapon in all the realms,” explained Maelor. “An axe, meant to harness and amplify the powers of the one wielding it a hundredfold, and in theory can even summon the Bifrost, the portal that allows the gods to move between worlds.”

  
“Does it have a name?” asked Jon.

  
He could have sworn that the demon's face twisted into a smirk when he said, “Stormbreaker.”

  
“Okay then,” said Gendry. He looked slightly envious that he wasn’t getting a weapon like that for himself, but went over to one of the vats.  
Jon took in a deep breath before he walked over to the centre of the crater. He looked up, his eyes straining to see the mouth of the volcano it was so high. Another deep breath, and Jon raised his clenched fiat into the air as electricity poured off of it. A thick lightning bolt struck his fist from the sky high above and exploded outwards to the walls of the crater, and suddenly there were loud explosions and terrible rumblings.

  
“Quickly! Get to the lens!” roared Maelor as he began to dump several ingots of Uru steel into a vat. Jon quickly jumped several levels up to the lens, where the Forge would focus the heat of the volcano to power everything.

  
Beams of light travelled from lens to lens, igniting fires under vats and ovens. Jon felt his hopes rise as the entire place came to life, even if it became almost unbearably hot, but then suddenly the main lens melted, then snapped in half. Instantly the entire forge powered down, stopping the fires and ovens from heating properly, and Maelor let out a roar of frustration.

  
“What happened?” asked Gendry worriedly.

  
“The Forge hasn’t been used in centuries, that's why the lens broke!” boomed the demon.

  
“So it won't melt the steel?” called Gendry.

  
“Not without the heat of the volcano!”

  
Jon scowled in anger and frustration. Without that axe, the God of Death and the Night King would win.

  
“What if I hold the lens in place long enough for the forge to cast the metal to make Stormbreaker?” he asked.

  
“It's suicide!” said Maelor.

  
“So is facing the Night King without that axe!” retorted Jon.

  
“The heat of the volcano has created the most deadly and powerful weapons in the universe, it will kill you!” argued Maelor.

  
“Only if I die,” said Jon before he jumped up further to the broken lens.

  
“Yes. That's exactly what... k-killing you means,” said Maelor, his anger melting away to mild confusion. Nevertheless, Jon ignored the warning and grabbed the two sides of the broken lens, and with all his strength, pulled them together with a loud grunt of exertion.

  
The fires relit, and the lens focussed the super intense heat right past Jon, and instantly he let out a cry of pain as the heat burned him. The Forge reactivated, once again starting the process of melting the Uru ingots.

  
“Hold it there boy!” roared Maelor.

  
Jon bellowed in agony as he fought to keep his hold on the lens. His strength was quickly fading, his entire back was literally on fire and he could feel his hair burning away. Outside of the Forge, earthquakes tore up the Valyrian peninsula yet again, storms raged and tsunamis drowned the shores as fire and ash erupted from the volcano. Fishermen who witnessed the event would go on to say that the Doom had occurred once again, finishing off what it had started all those years ago. The effects would be felt for hundreds of thousands of leagues, as Essos would fall into an ashy winter for months afterwards, and even guards from King’s Landing and Dragonstone would see the great fires erupting again.

  
Eventually, Jon's strength failed him as his consciousness slipped, and he felt himself let go of the lens and fall. He slipped in and out of consciousness, feeling weaker than ever before. His head hit something for a moment before the rest of him collided with the hot ground, possibly several floors down. Everything hurt badly, and he heard snippets of panicked conversation. Someone was screaming that the handle of something wasn't formed properly, while another voice, someone closer and more familiar was urging him to wake up.

  
Jon heard, or rather felt something calling to him, and he weakly extended his right hand. A comfortable weight fell into his grasp, and his strength returned in a matter of seconds as his eyes opened.

* * *

  
They were losing, thought Robb. The Others were finally forcing them back, overwhelming the living with sheer numbers and brutality. The once white snows of the land beyond the Wall was now soaked in blood and carnage, and there were bodies everywhere. Robb watched helplessly as Arya was knocked onto her stomach by an undead shadowcat before being dragged away into a frenzied mess at the same time Sansa's golem suit was brought down by dozens of wights who kicked and clawed at her. Father was being dragged back by his loyal bannermen, his right leg bloodied and ruined. More and more men fell to the horde, and Robb found himself alone as a wight tried clawing at him.

  
The only thing stopping the wight from killing him was his shield, but it proved futile when another wight came and tackled him from the side, knocking him down. Robb grunted as he was forced down, his shield in front to block the attacks. His sword was long gone, and all he could hear were the shrieks of the dead.

  
“There's too many of them!” Robb heard Theon say before screaming in pain. Robb let out a bellow before pushing the wights off him, then he grabbed a notched bronze axe and began hacking away at his stunned foes. They fell to pieces, but before Robb could catch a breath, more wights fell upon him. Fear seized his heart like an icy fist, and he began to panic as more and more wights piled on top of him.

  
Suddenly there was a burst of multi-coloured light, and the next thing Robb knew, the wights were off of him. He quickly looked around to see that the wights were burning with blue electricity, and he glanced around more.

  
A two-handed half axe half hammer was spinning through the air, cutting down the entire front line of undead with lightning swirling around, vaporising wights everywhere and giving the living room to breathe while at the same time rescuing those who were about to die, like Robb. From the pillar of light were three silhouettes, but when the light settled, Robb gasped.

  
It was Jon, Gendry and an unknown enormous demon-thing that had arrived. The axe flew to Jon's right hand, emitting a blue fire and electricity menacingly. His armour was black, even the scale sleeves, and his cape blood-red, his hair was cut short. Gendry was fully clad in his armour, and Robb couldn't help but grin at the sight of the God of Thunder. Their saviour was here.

  
“Haha! You guys are so screwed now!” laughed Sansa from within her giant armour.

  
“BRING ME THE NIGHT KING!!!” roared Jon before he took off running towards the massive horde. Robb quickly stood up and followed after his king, with many thousands more joining.

  
The more steps Jon took, the more lightning surged around him and the faster he got, until finally, he jumped up high into the air. The sky turned black as night, and lightning crackled everywhere, charging the air around him as a booming sound temporarily deafened Robb. Jon raised his axe above his head cape fluttering behind him and with a loud roar, brought the axe down onto the ground as he landed right in the middle of the Others' army. Lightning dispersed in all directions and the very ground shook, obliterating hundreds of wights to nothingness.

  
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Arya as she ran alongside Robb. They, alongside Gendry and the fire demon were the first to rejoin the battle, and a mighty clash sounded through the bloodied land.

* * *

  
The Night King had seen the Thunder God arrive, even from the very back of his army alongside his generals. Who hadn’t, with that display of power? He had thought he'd crippled the god's powers by destroying his hammer, but it seemed that the great Valyrian Balrog had assisted in creating an even greater weapon, one that might actually succeed in killing him if the Thunder God got too close.

  
But his master had assured him that no matter what would happen, they would remain victorious, and the world, by their hands, would receive the clean slate it so desperately needed.

  
The Night King's generals, though their faces remained as impassive as ever, had a look in their eyes that showed their doubts. For the first time in thousands of years, the Night King felt that same doubt as he watched the Thunder God tear through his forces effortlessly. His plan had to work, otherwise they might lose right here when they were so close to achieving their goals.

  
For the first time in eight-thousand years, the Night King felt fear.

* * *

  
Jon expertly wielded Stormbreaker like an extension of his own arms, twirling it around his body as he killed any wights mad enough to engage him. Lighting cut through a whole pack of them as he sent another one flying into the air electrified. Nearby, the tree golem crushed an undead shadowcat's skull before its head and chest opened up, and Sansa hopped up. Jon froze for a moment at the sight of the Spring Goddess. She was wearing light blue armour like winter roses, and her fiery red hair was braided down one shoulder. She regarded Jon for a moment, her eyes sweeping up and down his body.

  
“New haircut?” she asked.

  
“It got burned off trying to forge this mean bugger,” explained Jon as he showed off Stormbreaker. He then looked at the golem guarding Sansa. “I like your friend.”

  
“I made him,” said Sansa. She took a few steps closer to Jon, then without warning, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a brief but passionate kiss. When she pulled away, she gave him a withering look. “When we're done here, you and I are going to have a long talk about your propensity for lateness,” she said.

  
Jon's mind was too blank to form a coherent response after that kiss, so he nodded his head dumbly. Just then, Maelor appeared, brandishing a flaming sword and whip and mowing down wights everywhere.

  
“Oh, by the way, this is a friend of mine, Maelor,” introduced Jon. The balrog looked down at Sansa, then at her golem.

  
“The Goddess of Spring,” he said. “May your marriage be long and profitable.”

  
“Wait, marriage?!” shouted Jon.

  
Maelor didn't respond, because the temperature dropped yet again, and three Others appeared. Instantly Jon noticed how different they were from regular Others. Two of them were tall and slender, while the third was as tall and heavily built as Maelor. The closest had short cropped hair, a thin, wiry body that looked almost skeletal, and in its hands was a slim morning star made of ice. The second smaller one was lean and strong-looking, with an icy bow in its left hand and a spear and quiver of arrows slung over its shoulder. It wore a hood and cowl over its head, though its eyes still glowed deathly blue. And the tallest was all icy muscle and armour, with a huge broadsword in its hands. Its hair was long and its chin horned.

  
“Who are they?” asked Sansa.

  
“The three harbingers of Death,” said Maelor. “The short-haired one is Famine, the archer is Cold and the big one is War. They serve under the Night King, who serves Death itself.”

  
“Can they be killed?” asked Jon.

  
“If you have the right weapons,” said Maelor, looking at Stormbreaker meaningfully.

  
Jon nodded his understanding and stepped forward to confront the three Others. Their faces were expressionless, just like every other white walker he'd confronted, but they were still dangerous. Behind him, he sensed that Sansa had returned to her golem with Maelor following closely behind, and next to him, Arya popped into view.

  
“Where is your master?” demanded Jon.

  
_“The Night King has business elsewhere, which you will know of soon enough,”_ said one of the Harbingers, which one Jon didn't know because they spoke wordlessly.

  
“Then he's a coward,” spat Jon. He could feel his anger mounting as his desire for a rematch with the Night King grew.

  
_“The Night King respects the valiant effort you and your army have put into fighting us off, but it is all in vain,”_ they said. _“We have planned this for thousands of years, time which you simply have never had to prepare a counterattack.”_

  
“Well, we're stubborn,” said Arya as she twirled her spear around in her hands.

  
_“Stubbornness will only have you join our ranks that much quicker,”_ said the Harbingers, and without another word, they sprang forward, weapons raised and ready.

  
Jon took on the Harbinger of Famine, and to his surprise, the Other was very fast. It easily dodged his attacks and even landed a few on Jon, but they barely fazed the king. Jon knew that all it would take was one hit with Stormbreaker to bring the Other down, but first, he had to actually catch it. Jon got smacked in the face a few times with the morning star, dazing him slightly, and the Other followed up with a swift kick to the gut, making Jon stagger backwards.

  
However, all it did was serve to anger him and he caught the next kick. With one swing of Stormbreaker, he cut off the leg. The Other’s eyes widened in horror, before it was smacked in the face with its own leg, sending it flying away. Jon dropped the leg carelessly and looked around. Arya was fighting the Harbinger of Cold, dodging icy arrows gracefully yet narrowly as she tried to get closer. Maelor was in a titanic brawl with the Harbinger of War, sending up snow and steam everywhere. Sansa had gone to ward off any wights who got too close, but the golem she was in was suddenly impaled by a javelin made of ice.

  
Jon screamed in horror as the golem dropped to the ground, and he threw Stormbreaker at the incoming wights, killing them while he rushed over to Sansa. Easily, he ripped open the shell of wood and dirt, and sighed in relief when he saw Sansa unconscious yet unharmed. He summoned Stormbreaker back to him and used it to summon the Bifrost around them, transporting them to the top of the Wall.

  
“Get me a maester!” yelled Jon before he looked down at the battlefield. The hosts of the Living were fighting well, but soon it would be apparent that they would be overrun again. He mentally told all the gods to force everyone to retreat, then looked beyond the battle. He couldn’t see much because of the white winds, but he knew that somewhere out there the Night King was biding his time. It must have been his javelin that had destroyed Sansa's golem.

  
In the air, Daenerys and her three dragons brought fire down on everything not alive, buying the troops time to escape. When this was all over, Jon was going to give his aunt a great big hug, as the dragons had been invaluable. He watched in particular as Viserion flew down and breathed a stream of flame that completely obliterated hundreds of wights, which made Jon almost gri-

  
A loud whistling sound pierced the air, and suddenly Viserion was screeching in agony as blood gushed out of his throat. Jon's eyes widened in horror when he saw a javelin lodged in there, and the golden dragon dropped from the sky towards the forest. The air was rent with the shrieking of two more dragons, then fell silent when Viserion crash-landed into the forest, destroying trees.

  
The Night King had ambushed Daenerys’ dragon and killed him, and Jon feared that he was going to target Drogon and Rhaegal next.

  
“Dany, GET THEM OUT OF THERE!!!” roared Jon over the wind. She seemed to catch his message through the wind, and instantly Drogon and Rhaegal veered over to the safer side of the Wall.

  
The death of Viserion shattered Jon on the inside, and he gripped Stormbreaker tightly before leaving Sansa to join the battle below. Everyone had to leave, but they didn't have enough time to get everyone through the tunnels inside the Wall. But luckily he had something in mind.  
Jon quickly spun the axe in his hands several times, and from the darkened skies the Bifrost came down, engulfing all of the Living in its celestial light. With another twist of Stormbreaker, everyone still alive was taken up into the sky before instantaneously reappearing out the front of Winterfell.

  
Tired and sore, Jon slowly got to his feet and looked around. Everyone else looked even worse than he felt, and while there were thousands still alive, he knew that the number of dead left behind would only add to the Death God's strength.

  
“What have we done?” Jon said to himself quietly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: the gods deal with the aftermath of their battle against the Others, a mass exodus begins, and Bran introduces Jon to somebody special.


	15. Conversations with the Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think after this chapter there will only be about three or four left, so stay tuned lads and lasses

The council chamber was quiet as Jon sat in his chair, his hand resting on Stormbreaker like it was an anchor. His mind was addled with the high amount of alcohol he had already consumed, making his wits and senses slightly dull. Around him, the other lords and ladies were watching him expectantly, though he could sense their apprehension.

  
After retreating back to Winterfell, Jon had barred himself in this very chamber, allowing no visitors inside. He'd been alone for three weeks, drinking away his anger and sorrows at losing yet another battle. While it certainly wasn't the massacre that happened at Hardhome, many, many lives had been added to the Death God's army, increasing its strength further. Those who escaped through the Bifrost were all tired and their spirits low, Jon's more than most. His lingering guilt at arriving to the battle late was eating away at him, and it had taken Arya smacking upside over the head so hard a shockwave had knocked everything over to break him out of his spell.

  
Now in the present, Jon's head was sore from his hangover, but he tried to look at all his noble subjects with as much dignity as he could. Most of them looked exhausted, having spent much of their time making sure their forces were okay. A few, such as the Tyrells and Martells exempting Arianne had gone back to their lands with their armies, promising to return with fresh forces and supplies. The looks Jon was receiving were either sad, pitiful, or downright annoyed as was the case with both Arya and Sansa. Uncle Ned sat in a chair as well, his leg heavily bandaged after it had been mauled by wights during the battle of the Wall.

  
They had all come, at Jon's invitation in spite of his own terrible condition to discuss what needed to be done in order to prepare for the Others continual invasion.

  
“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, his voice slightly hoarse and only making his Northern accent thicker. Or maybe it was because he might still be drunk. “Three weeks ago we were dealt a harsh defeat at the hands of the God of Death. It should come as no surprise that very soon the Wall will fall and the Others will begin their invasion of our lands. We are here to plan against that.”

  
“I say we take the fight to them,” Lord Umber said immediately, his voice booming through the room and making Jon's head ring painfully. A few heads nodded in agreement at that.

  
“No,” countered Uncle Ned. “If we go to them, we'll be going where they are strongest. We'll lose again.”

  
Lord Umber looked like he wanted to argue, and Jon understood why. The man had lost his oldest son in the recent battle, and was thirsting for revenge. Actually, almost everyone had lost somebody. Daenerys had lost Viserion, and while Jon had been in self-imposed exile within his rooms, apparently the other Targaryen had gone almost mad with grief and blamed Jon for the dragon's murder. Even now, the silver-haired woman refused to look directly at him.

  
“Then what should we do?” asked Arianne.

  
Jon pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He really wanted more ale, but he feared that he was starting to become an alcoholic like Robert Baratheon had been before he died. He honestly couldn't think of anything without his head hurting more.

  
“We should evacuate the North,” said Robb. Everyone looked at him like he had gone mad, but he remained stoic. “Hear me out. The Wall is going to fall, there's no doubt about that. And there's going to be nothing that can stop the Others until the Neck. Not even Winterfell would survive the onslaught if we stay here.”

  
“The Neck has been the North's first and greatest line of defence against the South,” said Theon. “It could work in much the same way except reverse.”

  
“Exactly,” said Robb. He pointed to the image of Moat Cailin on the map nearby. “Moat Cailin is almost impervious to a siege. If we get as many people out of the North and into the Riverlands or even the Reach, we can leave a few hundred men at the fortress. They could probably hold off the Army of the Dead for several months if need be.”

  
“The Others aren't a normal army Robb,” said Uncle Ned tiredly.

  
“They can't swim,” argued Robb. “Moat Cailin is surrounded by bogs and water, it will take forever for them to cross South of that.”

  
Nobody argued against that. In truth, it was actually a sound plan that had a strong potential of working.

  
“But what about when the Others cross the Neck?” asked Arya.

  
“Until Balerion the Black Dread burned it, Harrenhal was the greatest castle in all of the Seven Kingdoms,” said Robb. “The hills and forests around it are easily defensible, and the walls are still strong enough that no castle can successfully take it without a dragon.”

  
“It's also a large enough castle to fit almost all of our remaining forces with room to spare,” said Theon. “And it's location is good enough that we can bring in reinforcements by both land and sea.”

  
Jon stood up and walked over to the map, looking at Harrenhal's location. His oldest ancestor Aegon the Conqueror had destroyed the place, though not entirely, and it had been the seat of power to several noble families. While there were many fantastical tales of the place being cursed, Jon wasn't worried about that at all. All he cared about was whether or not it could protect him and his people.

  
“Let's do it,” he said. He looked at his lords. “Prepare your men to depart as soon as possible. Send out ravens to every castle in the North to have their people meet at Winterfell, and I will transport them South of the Neck with the Bifrost. Every castle South of the Neck but North of Harrenhal needs to evacuate as well, preferably to the Reach of southern parts of the Westerlands. Every fighting man must rally to Harrenhal with all haste, the forges must be lit and preparing dragonglass and Valyrian Steel weapons and every arm manned.”

  
“And what of food?” asked one of the many bannermen there.

  
“I will take care of it,” assured Sansa.

  
Jon shot her a grateful look, then looked at everyone gathered. “You all have your assignments. Make it so,” he said.

* * *

  
Later in the week, Jon found Sansa praying in the Godswood under the weirwood tree. Not wanting to disturb her just yet, he sat contently watching her from behind. He found it slightly amusing that Sansa was praying to the Gods, being a deity herself, but he wasn't about to stop her. He honestly thought the sight rather endearing.

  
Sansa finished her silent prayer and stood up, then her eyes widened in mild surprise at seeing Jon there. She slowly approached him, which Jon took to be a good sign compared to when he had left for Essos. Last time, she was cold and indifferent to him, but after he came back, and that kiss on the battlefield, it sparked some small degree of hope.

  
“I didn’t think I would see you here today,” said Sansa.

  
“It has been a long time, between the travelling, organising a mass exodus and getting overly drunk,” said Jon ruefully. “But I didn’t come here to pray.”

  
“What did you come here for?” asked Sansa.

  
“I wanted to talk to you,” said Jon quietly.

  
Sansa's eyes narrowed, but she nodded and sat down on the rock near the pond, moving over slightly so that there was room for Jon as well. He took it as a good sign and sat next to her. The rock was small enough that Jon and Sansa had to press up against each other in order to fit, and Jon liked it a lot.

  
“So...” began Jon.

  
“What did you want to talk about?” asked Sansa.

  
“Well, first things first, I'm glad we're on speaking terms again,” said Jon.

  
“I've thought it over. What happened between you and Princess Arianne, that is,” said Sansa. “And I've come to the conclusion that it wasn't entirely your fault. Actually, I would place most of the blame on the Princess.”

  
“Is that so?” said Jon.

  
Sansa nodded thoughtfully. “From what you told me, I gathered that she came to you first, and maybe even forced herself upon you when you turned her down repeatedly. That doesn't excuse you for giving in, I'm still angry with you about that,” she added when Jon opened his mouth. “But I think I was more jealous and angry that nothing had happened between us.”

  
“I do still feel terrible about it though,” said Jon earnestly.

  
“We weren't promised to each other Jon,” said Sansa. “We still aren't, really. But you know how I feel about you.”

  
“I feel the same way about you also,” said Jon. “And while I am still ashamed of what I did to hurt you, I want to make it up. But with this war going on...”

  
“I understand Jon,” said Sansa. “Right now, there are worse things to worry about than the matters of the heart.”

  
Jon sighed and nodded his head. Sans then leant forward and took a sniff of him, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

  
“You're still drinking, aren't you?” she said.

  
“Only a little,” said Jon ruefully.   
Sansa raised a single eyebrow. “Really? Because it smells like you've already emptied half of the wine cellar and poured it all over yourself.”

  
“It's a hard habit to break,” said Jon.

  
“You need to stop, we can't have another Robert Baratheon on our hands,” scolded Sansa.

  
That stung a little, but Jon knew she was right. A comfortable silence followed, during which the snow began to fall in tiny flakes that melted aa soon as they touched the ground.

  
“So about that kiss,” he said lightly. Sansa sighed and bumped her shoulder against his, but her cheeks were now stained pink and her smile genuine.

  
“It was the heat of the moment, and my blood was pumping,” she said with a soft laugh that made Jon's heart flutter a little. It had been a long time since he'd heard that sound.

  
“You must have thought I was pretty spectacular showing up to battle the way I did,” teased Jon.

  
“Actually, if I'm being honest I was more shocked that you brought a fire demon with you,” said Sansa. “But I did like the part where you slammed your fancy new weapon into the ground with all that lightning coming off you,” she added.

  
Jon snorted in amusement at that, and the two fell silent. Without saying anything, their fingers intertwined together, holding fast like a strong foundation.

* * *

  
It took over a month before as many people as possible from the North had gathered to Winterfell. People as far as the eye could see beyond the castle walls, moving like ants through the cold wastelands.

  
“Are you sure you want to be doing this?” asked Arya. “It could drain your strength fora long time.”

  
“It won't be me transporting everyone to the Riverlands, Stormbreaker will do that,” said Jon. To emphasize his point, he lifted up his axe, and it shimmered with rainbow light. Arya could only roll her eyes at him, but at that moment, somebody approached from nearby. It was Bran, being carried by Hodor, who then propped up the fourth Stark child on a chair they had brought. Once settled, Bran gave them a serious look.

  
“I need to speak with Jon, alone,” he said.

  
Arya shrugged and walked away, while Hodor also left. Once it was just Jon and him, he spoke again.

  
“I know that the last several weeks have been... hard. Your excessive alcohol consumption is proof enough of that,” he began.

  
“I've stopped that,” said Jon, though it wasn't true. He only stopped drinking every now and again. Or whenever he knew nobody was watching.

  
“You and I both know that isn't true,” said Bran. “You need to stop immediately.”

  
“I like drinking,” argued Jon. “It helps me forget my mistakes.”

  
“Jon, I’ve seen what will happen if you continue down this path,” said Bran. “You will not be in good enough shape to fight the Night King and you will lose.”

  
“So we are doomed to perish,” said Jon angrily.

  
“No, but you need to sort yourself out sooner rather than later,” said Bran, sounding calm in spite of Jon's own shortening temper.

  
“And how should I exactly do that?” asked Jon sarcastically.

  
Bran looked hesitant for a moment, seemingly deep in thought.

  
“There is something I can do to help you right yourself before you fall off the edge,” he said. “Maybe someone special can have a talk with you.”

  
Jon's thoughts went immediately to Sansa, but it seemed that his cousin had something else in mind. Without another word, Bran's eyes glowed green and mystical energy of the same colour swirled around both he and Jon. Jon let out a cry before suddenly it stopped.  
For a brief moment, Jon thought nothing had happened, but then he quickly realised that he was somewhere else entirely. He was inside a spacious yet unfamiliar hallway, and when he peered out of a nearby open window after hearing noise he saw numerous people wearing all sorts of clothing and sigils. Flags billowed in the wind, which was surprisingly warm to the touch as it blew across Jon's face. The whole atmosphere was different, which made Jon wonder what was going on.

  
“Where are we?” he asked.

  
“Harrenhal, but the more important question is when are we,” answered Bran, who was now standing up. “And we are at the conclusion of the great Tourney of Harrenhal.

  
“The Tourney of Harrenhal,” repeated Jon. He was surprised. It was still a while before his birth, and Robert’s Rebellion had not begun yet.

  
“Someone will be here to see you shortly,” said Bran.

  
“Who is it?” asked Jon.

  
“You'll see, just remember to not let anyone see you except for the person looking for you,” answered Bran, before he vanished into thin air.  
Jon sighed, then began to stroll through the castle. He was obviously not in his own timeline, which made him wonder when he was. The sound of chatter and footsteps approaching pulled him out of his thoughts, so he quickly rushed to the other end of the hall and around a corner, away from the talking. No doubt the entire castle was full of people, so Jon did his best to remain in the shadows so he wouldn't be spotted.

  
He was almost caught when he nearly ran into a small group of people, but he quickly ducked behind a pillar, pressing his body firmly against it. The accents of the people's voices were distinctly Northern, which made Jon peer around the pillar, but he froze at the sight. There were three of them, two men and one woman, though the shortest looked to be barely a boy while the woman couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen. They were clearly siblings and close judging by their appearances and mannerisms towards one another. The tallest was a lean man with long, straight dark hair and a thick, well-maintained beard. Brandon, Jon's oldest uncle. The youngest boy’s hair was pitch-black, like Jon’s but also straight like his two older brothers but still very much Uncle Benjen. While it certainly strange for Jon to see two of his uncles, albeit younger and alive (Jon still didn't know whether or not Uncle Benjen was still alive), it was the sight of the young woman who stole Jon's breath away.

  
She was short and dressed in a pale blue and grey dress, with winter roses embroidered into it. Her hair was slightly done up, but her chestnut-coloured hair fell down to the small of her back in thick ringlets, just like Jon's hair used to be like before it was mostly burned off. Her face was long but undeniably beautiful in a wild sense, much like Arya had grown to be. Her eyes were dark as well, but they were so much like Jon's that he believed they would actually be grey if he was close enough to see. She was beautiful, and Jon's heart ached to see her surrounded by her siblings.

  
“My mother,” whispered Jon as the truth hit him. Her statue did Lyanna no justice, a pale reflection of who she truly was in life.  
As Jon watched his mother and uncles walking away, he noticed Lyanna stop and look around for a moment.

  
“Come on Lya, we’re expected to be leaving soon,” urged Brandon.

  
“You go on ahead, there’s something I need to do first,” said Lyanna. Jon felt his throat constrict at the sound of her voice. Why had Bran sent him to this time?

  
As his uncles kept going, Lyanna turned away, leaving Jon's sight. He wanted to chase after her, but he had been given specific instructions to not interact with anyone except for who was coming to collect him. So he turned away and went to walk in the other direction. But then he was suddenly face to face with Lyanna herself. Jon screamed in fright and jumped away, clutching his chest as though he was about to have a heart attack. Lyanna also screamed and threw her hands up into the air as she got startled by Jon's reaction, though she recovered quickly.

  
“Ned? I thought you had already left with Robert?” said Lyanna.

  
Damn it, this wasn't supposed to happen! Jon thought. Quickly, think of a lie!

  
“I slept in and missed him,” he lied as he tried stepping away from his mother. Even that sounded lame to his own ears.

  
“What happened to your hair?” asked Lyanna.

  
“I always wanted to get it cut,” said Jon quickly.

  
“What are you wearing? You look more pompous than the Kingsguard!” exclaimed Lyanna.

  
Jon scoffed. “This is my favourite outfit, I wear it all the time!” he defended. Lyanna took a step closer and grabbed his wrist, then pulled him closer. Jon's felt himself stiffen as she held his chin, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. They were grey, exactly like his own.

  
“That scar, where did you get it?” she asked.

  
“I got it... fighting in the melee,” said Jon dumbly.

  
“Ned, you were sitting next to me when we watched the melee,” said Lyanna.

  
Jon could feel himself panicking, but then Lyanna’s eyes softened.

  
“You're not my Ned, are you?” she said softly.

  
“No,” said Jon.

  
“Then you must be the man the God of Time told me to search for,” said Lyanna. “My own flesh and blood, my son from the future.”

  
Jon felt his walls crumble down when Lyanna said that, his heart tearing at actually being called someone's son, more specifically by a mother.

  
“I'm totally your son from the future,” he cried, and before he knew it, he was being embraced in a way only a mother could hold her child, a way Jon had longed for his entire life. Jon hugged Lyanna back as tears fell from his eyes, and they stayed that way for a long time before Lyanna let go.

  
“Come, we must speak more privately,” she said before taking his hand and leading him away. They came to some rooms and Lyanna closed the door behind her and locked it, then ushered Jon to sit before handing him a cup of Arbour Gold.

  
“So you're the one who I'm supposed to talk to,” said Jon.

  
“The Time God said you needed aid,” said Lyanna. Then she startled and quickly yanked the cup from Jon's hands before he could even take a sip. “Oops, I forgot that the Time God said you shouldn't drink, said you'd drunken enough.”

  
“Bran that bloody bastard,” growled Jon under his breath.

  
“So,” said Lyanna as she sat down next to Jon closely and began running her hands through his hair. “The Time God said that the world was on the brink of destruction and that you were the one destined to save the world, but you’re about to crumble under the pressure. Tell me about it.”

  
“I...” Jon paused. This was so weird. “I’ve failed twice and it cost the lives of thousands of good people. I'm trying to beat Death itself, but it just keeps kicking my ass.”

  
“The Time God said that you yourself have achieved godhood. Though it boggles my mind to even think about that, tell me about it,” said Lyanna.

  
“I was made the God of Thunder, which means I can control the weather and summon lightning bolts,” said Jon. “I’m the strongest, but even that's not enough to stop the God of Death. I was given these ridiculously powerful weapons, but the first one was destroyed and the second one only held off the Army of the Dead for a little bit.”

  
“And you feel inadequate that you can't seem to actually beat your enemy, despite being told you can,” observed Lyanna.

  
“Pretty much,” said Jon.

  
Lyanna gave a small tsk and removed her hands from Jon's hair, leaving him missing the soothing sensation her ministrations had brought.  
“Well, I can honestly say that you are royally fucked,” said Lyanna. “You've had your backside handed to you twice, you've lost more men under your leadership than you've probably counted and even your powers aren't enough. So you're not enough.”

  
“That's true,” said Jon.

  
“And a failure? Absolutely,” continued Lyanna.

  
“That's a bit harsh but also true,” grumbled Jon.

  
“But that's okay,” assured Lyanna.

  
Jon sighed. “I don't know Mother. I'm supposed to be this all-powerful king and god, yet I continue to fall short,” he said.

  
“Everyone fails at who they're supposed to be,” said Lyanna. “Take me for example. I'm supposed to be this prim and proper lady who’s supposed to be good at singing and dancing and full of manners with a harp in my hand. But in reality I actually prefer to ride horses and have a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. I'd rather wear breeches and a jerkin than a nice dress.”

  
“I don't see where you're going with all this,” said Jon as he felt his confusion grow.

  
“What I'm trying to get at Jon is, who are you?” said Lyanna. “Who were you before you got your fancy gifts?”

  
“I was a bastard,” said Jon.

  
“I heard about that. Stupid Ned,” grumbled Lyanna darkly. “I meant who are you as a person?”

  
Jon thought about that deeply. Who was he really? A loser, a fool, arrogant, moody and sullen. But also a warrior, a brother, a cousin, a son, a friend to bastards and broken things. When he repeated that to his mother, she smiled.

  
“See? You are many things, so you should strengthen your strengths, and your weakness will naturally become stronger,” she said.

  
“I don't know how to though,” said Jon.

  
“Just be yourself,” advised Lyanna. She kissed the top of Jon's head just as Bran reappeared.

  
“I am sorry, but we are out of time,” he said regretfully.

  
“It's okay,,” said Lyanna, though she sounded anything but, then she looked at Jon. “Do you feel better?”

  
“Yes, I do actually,” answered Jon truthfully. He was surprised by how reinvigorated he felt, and when he stood up he felt a great weight leave his shoulders. He looked down at Lyanna and felt a wave of sadness wash over him. In a few short weeks his mother would run off with Rhaegar, kick starting the chain of events resulting in the fall of his House and the deaths of thousands. He felt compelled to warn her.

  
“Mother, there's something I need to tell you,” he began, but she hushed him.

  
“I already know what is going to happen, the Time God told me,” she said.

  
“But you'll die,” argued Jon.

  
“I know. I wouldn't like to die so young myself but these things need to happen for you to be born,” said Lyanna.

  
“She's right Jon,” said Bran. “You are the only one who can end the Long Night.”

  
Jon wanted to press his case, but the look Lyanna gave him caused him to give up. Lyanna smiled sadly and said to Bran, “Thank you for giving me this time with my son.”

  
“Of course, my lady. Jon has never felt a mother's love truly, and I foresaw that he needed to speak with you,” said Bran.

  
Lyanna then embraced Jon, which he eagerly returned and once again felt tears streaming down his face. This would be the last time most people would see her alive probably, and he knew that he would never get an opportunity like this again.

  
Reluctantly, the two parted and Jon went to stand next to Bran. Lyanna's eyes were glistening as well as she looked on.

  
“I love you Mother,” said Jon hoarsely.

  
“I love you too son. Go kick the Death God's ass for me, will you?” said Lyanna. Jon smiled, and the last thing he saw before Bran's green magic overtook him was her curly brown hair and grey eyes, looking at him in a way that he had longed for his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon's proves his worthiness again, and the final battle commences.


	16. The Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Long Night begins.

Despite the fact that it had not changed a bit in the last twenty odd years, compared to Jon's recent trip back in time to visit his mother the castle seemed more gloomy and full of despair. Men flitted in and out of the castle, carrying messages to him and out again.

  
Four moons since the evacuation of the North, and the Others had broken through the Wall finally. As far as anyone knew the Night's Watch was completely decimated, buried under the very structure that they had protected for thousands of years. The Army of the Dead had then stalked across the North, slaughtering anything that got in their way. The garrison of two thousand men stationed at Moat Cailin had thankfully proved invaluable in defending the Neck, bleeding the Night King's army day by day and giving the Living much-needed time.

  
Until eventually the old fortress fell just a few days prior. No one was quite sure how it happened, but it was so sudden that many of Jon's subjects had fallen to despair. It was taking everything to keep the morale of his troops up, yet the longer nights and steady snowfalls certainly weren't helping at all. Jon didn't know how much time they had left before the Dead arrived, so he was kept busy with using the Bifrost to transport the smallfolk down to the Reach.

  
All in all, things were not shaping up to be in the living's favour. But that didn’t mean all hope was lost. Theon had left not long after everyone had travelled to Harrenhal, claiming he had been given a mission by his master, taking his trident with him after promising to return to fight the final battle with reinforcements. Jon didn't know where the Sea God was going to find more men, but anything was better than nothing.

Robb and Arya were often our amongst the soldiers, hoping their mere presence and company would help lift spirits. Sansa had already turned much of the unused space into plentiful gardens of food. Gendry and Maelor were relentless together in the forge, crafting as much Valyrian steel weapons and armour as possible with their combined magic.

  
There had been no word at all from King's Landing regarding Tywin Lannister's efforts to bring his family into the real war, and at this point Jon had given up on anything hopeful from that place. If they won against the Dead, Jon planned on storming the capital and killing Joffrey and Tywin, as well as anyone who got in his way.

  
One day, as Jon was sitting in his private solar, Sansa came in with a dazzling smiling on her face that automatically made him curious.

  
“What happened?” he asked.

  
“A village about a half-day's ride from here has reported something interesting that fell from the sky last night,” said Sansa.

  
“Do they know what it is?” asked Jon.

  
“The smallfolk don't, but one of the soldiers who lived in Winterfell said it bares an uncanny resemblance to your old hammer Mjolnir,” answered Sansa.

  
Jon felt himself stiffen. Mjolnir had returned?

  
“Impossible, the Night King destroyed it with his bare hands,” he said disbelievingly.

  
“Well, this soldier sounded pretty convinced it was Mjolnir,” said Sansa coyly. Jon narrowed his eyes at her, but she only shrugged. “All I’m saying is that it might be worth looking into.”

  
“I think we should pay our two blacksmiths a visit,” suggested Jon. He stood up and together with Sansa, made the long trip down to the large forge. Inside was extremely hot and stifling, the smell of smoke and sulphur heavy which made Jon want to cough his lungs out. The roof had been refitted with a much taller roof in order to accommodate for Maelor’s enormous size. When he and Gendry saw Jon and Sansa enter, they stopped their work.

  
“I have a question,” said Jon.

  
“About what?” asked Gendry.

  
“A hammer resembling Mjolnir was spotted near here, and we want to know if it is the same hammer,” said Sansa.

  
Maelor let out a deep chuckle that caused a small stream of fire to burst from his glowing mouth. “That hammer was my finest piece of work before Stormbreaker,” he said. “Nearly impossible to destroy and the enchantments extremely powerful.”

  
“But the Night King destroyed it like it was nothing,” said Jon. However, Maelor shook his horned head.

  
“The Night King only temporarily removed it from this plane of existence,” said the demon. “After the Gods of Creation and Death, the original God of Thunder was the most powerful god. His power was so great that he could summon world-ending storms on planets light years from where he stood when he was but a small boy, but he also had less control over his powers than most gods. So, the Thunder God’s father Creation commissioned that I and my brothers fashion a weapon that could help the Thunder God focus his powers and control them, so we crafted Mjolnir.

  
“However, even the hammer could only handle so much power at a time and often broke if the Thunder God put to much force into his attacks or whatever else he was doing. So Creation out an enchantment on Mjolnir so that whenever it would break, it would repair itself over a period of time. Unfortunately a side effect of the enchantment is that Mjolnir would sometimes reassemble on the other side of the universe and it would takes its master months to find it again.”

  
“So you think that Mjolnir has reformed here again?” asked Jon.

  
“I don’t think, I _know_ ,” said Maelor.

  
When Jon and Sansa looked at Gendry, he only shrugged.

  
“Don't look at me, I'm hearing this for the first time as well,” he said.

  
“So what should I do?” Jon asked, turning back to Maelor.

  
“Summon your hammer back to you of course!” said Maelor. “With the combined might of Mjolnir and Stormbreaker at your command, you'll be even more powerful than ever!”

  
Jon felt a grin spread across his face, but doubt still crept in. What if, after all his mistakes, he was no longer worthy? Surely an unhealthy alcohol addiction would disqualify him?

  
“Just try,” said Sansa encouragingly as she laid a hand on his arm. Jon shrugged and thought, why not? He then stretched out his arm into the air, holding his breath and closing his eyes.

  
“Wait, what's going on here?” asked Gendry in confusion. “I thought he was gonna go get the hammer?”

  
“It can take a moment,” Jon heard Sansa say. He couldn't feel anything, and he opened one eye to chance a peak. But then, there was the sound of something rushing through the air at high speeds, and into Jon's hand flew Mjolnir, fully repaired. A rush of wind blew through the forge, upsetting the fires. Jon let out a joyful gasp and laughed, spinning the hammer in his hand. He looked at Gendry and Maelor, then at a smiling Sansa, his joy nearly completely full.

  
“I'm still worthy,” he said.

* * *

  
Night came one day, and never left. Jon only realised what had happened because he thought he had woken up late, until one of his servants told him that the sun had simply never arisen over the east. The Long Night had truly come.

  
With the Long Night came a greater sense of urgency. A number of lords had departed to assemble all of their armies and bring them back, though the North and Riverlands stayed as they were already gathered. Most of the Reach forces were gone to oversee that the refugees settled into their lands without issue, Dorne and the Stormlands forces were still several days away and Theon was gone. It left only a handful of lords and commanders under Jon's command still at Harrenhal, but for days he had an unsettling feeling that something was going to happen and he couldn't shake it.

  
The gods and commanders who were left were all gathered near the fire in Jon's solar, trying to keep warm, though Arya and Gendry were standing next to Maelor's hot form without complaint. Almost everyone except for Jon was already in their armour and suited up for war, having been that way ever since the light never returned.

  
“Has there been any news?” asked the king.

  
“None, Your Grace,” said Ser Davos, Lady Shireen's advisor. “Nothing has come north since the Long Night truly began, so we are blind as to the Night King's movements.”

  
“I could fly my dragons and see,” suggested Daenerys.

  
“No,” said Jon. “You won't see them until it's too late, and they could kill your dragons before you ever know what hit you.”

  
Daenerys looked like she wanted to argue, but one look from Jon had her backing down, for now at least. Dany had been questioning all of Jon's decisions since she had united with him, and had only gotten worse since Viserion's death. It concerned Jon that his aunt seemed to hate him, and her rash decisions and need to be right all the time reminded him of their family's history of madness.

  
“I hate to say it, but I think anyone North of Harrenhal are probably part of the enemy now,” said Robb. It saddened Jon that it was probably true, even if he didn't want it to be.

  
“How far away are reinforcements?” asked Arya.

  
“At least a sennight away,” answered Uncle Ned. “But the dead could be even closer than that for all we know.”

  
“Let us hope not,” said Sansa.

  
As Jon opened his mouth to speak, he paused, then looked a closed window. He thought he heard something, but couldn't be sure. The fire and candles flickered as a swift breeze blew through, followed by an air of thick tension. Everybody tensed up, hands reaching for weapons. Jon thought he heard one of Dany's dragons roar in the distance, but it sounded off. Something was not right at all.

  
Arya was the first to react, and she slowly walked over to the window that had its shutters closed. Everyone followed her with their eyes, waited with bated for something they didn't know. After looking over her shoulder, Arya cautiously unlocked the shutters and threw them open, letting in cold wind and snow flakes. Other than the snow, no one could see anything.

  
“There's nothing out-“ Arya was cut off when suddenly the walls around them exploded, and bright blue flames poured in. There were screams of horror and shock, but Jon couldn't see as he was suddenly blasted off his feet by the explosion. He briefly saw Sansa throw up a shield of vegetation around herself and her father, but then the fire and falling rock clouded his view.

  
Jon didn't know what happened, but he was sure the entire tower they were in was collapsing on top of them. Fire lit up everything until suddenly Jon found himself pinned under by stone larger than wagons. If he were a regular mortal, he would have been crushed.

  
Using his strength, Jon pushed the huge stone bricks off of himself and sat up, coughing as he breathed in dust. He couldn't see much through the thick haze, except for a few blue fires that were still burning. He climbed up over the debris occasionally slipping as he lost his footing against the loose rock until he climbed to the top. Jon felt his heart drop at the sight of the entire castle reduced to rubble within minutes. Bodies lay burning or crushed everywhere, and as Jon looked around, he couldn't see any of his friends or family.

  
However, what he could see that also answered the question as to what had hit them was the sight of an enormous blue dragon with glowing blue eyes and tattered wings shrieking high above in the night sky, breathing streams of blue flame. Viserion, returned from the dead as a puppet. Jon guessed that the dragon was how the Others had brought down the Wall and conquered Moat Cailin.

  
But it was, to Jon's horror, that Viserion circled around the scene of destruction a dew times before flying down to land in the place that used to be the main courtyard amidst a sea of bodies. A figure, tiny compared to the dragon slid off its back, clutching an icy sword. Jon felt his anger flare up. He recognised that monster anywhere at this point.

  
The Night King regarded the ruins with a bored look before burying his sword in the earth blade down, then sat on top of a pile of corpses and picked up a rock, rolling it between his fingers as Viserion took off into the air again. Jon stood motionless as he watched his nemesis, wondering what the Night King was planning on doing.

* * *

  
Robb jolted awake with a gasp, then looked around. There was broken stone and wood everywhere around him, though thankfully he was unharmed except for the ringing in his head. To his relief, Gendry and Arya appeared, the Forge God holding Robb's shield. Arya rushed over and helped Robb onto his feet.

  
“What happened?” he asked.

  
“The entire fortress got burned to the ground, along with almost everyone inside by an undead dragon,” said Gendry as he handed Robb the shield. “There's almost nothing left.”

  
“Where's my father and sisters?” said Robb.

  
“We don't know,” admitted Arya, “but you need to follow us, there's something you need to see.”

  
Robb exchanged a look with Gendry before they both followed Arya outside, where Jon was waiting for them with a surprisingly calm look on his face. But, having known the Thunder God his whole life, Robb could see the rage burning just beneath the surface. Not far away amongst the debris of the once-proud castle, the Night King was sitting down, looking unamused by everything.

  
“What's he doing?” asked Robb.

  
“Absolutely nothing,” said Jon in that same burning calm he was emanating.

  
“He's been sitting there this whole time?” asked Gendry.

  
“Where's the rest of his army? Why is he alone?” added Arya.

  
“He's waiting for us,” said Gendry. Almost in response, the Night King looked up at the four of them with those cold eyes of his, yet he stayed where he was.

  
“You know it's probably a trap right?” said Gendry.

  
“Yeah, well I don't care at this point. The bastard's got to go,” replied Arya.

  
“Good, just as long as we are all in agreement,” Jon paused as he extended both arms out, and lightning began to surge around him. In the sky, lightning lit up everything and thunder rumbled, shaking everything slightly. Into Jon's left hand flew Mjolnir, and the Right Stormbreaker while his clothes turned into his full black armour and red cape. His hair, which had rapidly grown down past his shoulders in the last several months (much to Sansa's apparent delight) was now tied behind his head with the back hanging free still, making him look like the warrior king he was. “Let's kill him.”

  
Together, the three gods and Robb descended down to meet their enemy, their footsteps slow and precise. As they got closer, they spread out, hoping to attack the Night King from multiple angles and overwhelm him. Yet despite being outnumbered, the Night King's expression did not change.

  
“ _You should know by now that I am going to win this war,_ ” said a cold, piercing voice that could only have come from the Night King, though his mouth didn't move. “ _Admit your folly. We will make it painless for you, all of you. You will be spared all pain and suffering for eternity_.”

  
“For what? To trade in our free will and become your slaves?” said Arya angrily.

  
The Night King looked at the Shadow Goddess and said, “ _Not slaves, you will be free._ ”

  
“We won't accept your offer,” said Robb.

  
“ _Then you leave me no choice,”_ said the Night King. He stood and grabbed his sword at the same time Jon lit up both his weapons with lightning, his eyes glowing dangerously.

  
“ _For what it is worth, the Death God admires your determination_ ,” continued the Night King. “ _But the last enemy that shall be defeated is Death, and Death has never lost.”_

  
Jon let out a war cry before charging at the same time as everyone else. Gendry flew high into the air, a flaming sword protruding from his right wrist. Arya summoned some shadow spears and launched them at the Night King while Robb ran as fast as he could, sword drawn and shield at the ready.

  
The Night King deflected Gendry's attack before rolling out of the way of the shadow spears, then parried Jon's dual-wielding attack. Jon threw Mjolnir, which missed the Night King and swung Stormbreaker at his neck, again missing. The Night King kicked Jon in the gut, sending him right through a pile of stone. Robb came up then and slashed at the Night King's leg with his sword, but the Valyrian steel blade merely glanced off the ice monster's pale armour. In response the Night King swung his own icy sword at Robb, but he managed to bring his shield up in time to block the attack. However the force of the blow knocked him right off his feet, sending him tumbling through the rubble.

  
Robb sucked in a deep breath in pain before slowly getting back up. He looked at the battle and only just realised how in over his head he was. He had no powers or special abilities like the others, except for his indestructible shield. But damn all Seven Hells if he was going to stand by and watch the gods duke it out.

  
“I'm an idiot,” he muttered to himself before charging back into the fight.

* * *

  
The shield of vegetation opened up to let Sansa, Father and Daenerys out. Thanks to Sansa's quick thinking, she had been able to spare them from the fires and rubble, but now it looked like they were trapped underneath the entire castle. There was no sign of any of the others, but above them, the muffled sounds of fighting could be heard.

  
“They're up there,” said Father.

  
“What hit us?” asked Daenerys.

  
“I don't know, but we have to get up to the top and help them,” said Sansa.

  
“How do we do that?”

  
Sansa looked around for a moment. “Perhaps I can use my powers to lift the debris off of us and then we can climb up,” she said thoughtfully.

  
“Do it,” said Father.

  
Sansa nodded and stepped away from the other two before stretching out her hands. Her eyes glowed green and roots slowly grew up out of the ground before pushing against the stone above them. The ground rumbled slightly beneath them, and dust fell down around them, so Sansa had to be careful in case she lost control and accidentally crushed everyone.

  
However, she paused when she heard a noise behind them. Father and Daenerys also heard it as they turned around. Father drew his sword, while Daenerys took a couple steps behind him and Sansa grew armour of wood and rock around herself. A cold fog began to seep into the cavern, making it difficult to see properly.

  
“What is it?” asked Daenerys.

  
“Sansa, you might want to pick up the pace in getting us out of here,” said Father. There was a horrific shriek, and dark shapes started to come towards them at rapid speed.

  
_Wights_ , thought Sansa before she pointed one hand towards the incoming horde. Roots and vines sprang up and wrapped themselves around several wights, dragging them down to the ground before being crushed, while other vines lifted others up and stretched them out before tearing them to pieces. Father cut down the few that got too close with his Valyrian steel sword, while Sansa pushed Daenerys behind her protectively so that she wouldn't get in the way.

  
“Sansa, we have to get out of here now!” yelled Father as he decapitated one very rotten wight.

  
Sansa’s eyes glowed brighter as the roots that had been strangling the wights moved towards her and formed into the shape of her golem. The strange automaton opened up and Sansa hopped right in before she helped Daenerys inside. Father stayed back for a small moment to finish off the last of the wights before he too climbed into the golem. The golem closed in around them, though Sansa could see, and she continued to direct the roots to push outwards.

  
“We have to get you to your dragons, Princess,” she said to the Targaryen woman.

  
“Then hurry, we don't have much time left,” said Daenerys.

  
Sansa nodded grimly, then pushed her powers to the limits in order to get them out of their rocky tomb.

* * *

  
As Arya was viciously pounded into the ground by the Night King, Gendry landed in front of Jon. The armoured suit's back opened up like a set of dragonfly wings with a glowing hole in the centre.

  
“Alright Jon, hit me!” yelled Gendry.

  
Jon charged up both Mjolnir and Stormbreaker, then with a bellow, released the built up energy into a massive lightning bolt straight at Gendry's back. The blast collided with the glowing hole, and Gendry's entire suit lit up neon-blue before he fired multiple golden beams at the Night King from his hands, eye holes, chest and wings. The Night King tossed Arya away like a wet cloth and brought up an ice shield just in time, forcing him back slightly. However, the ice demon pushed against the blasts, gaining ground quickly.

  
Jon through the still-electrified Mjolnir up in the air, then with a swing of Stormbreaker like a bat, sent the smaller hammer rocketing straight towards the Night King. But the Night King reached Gendry and lifted him above his head like a wrestler, and Mjolnir accidentally smashed into Gendry, sending him flying and unbalancing the Night King. Gendry rolled a long distance away through the rock, dirt and bodies before smashing into a wall, and he didn't get up.

  
Robb threw his shield, smacking it into the Night King’s face immediately after as Jon began to run towards the battlefield to join his cousin. He watched as the Night King punched Robb, and while Robb was able to stop the attack with his shield, he was still sent flying away.

  
Jon didn't see where Robb had fallen, but he pressed on and slid along the ground to avoid an icy javelin. Recovering quickly, Jon jumped up into the air and tried to bring a lightning-infused Stormbreaker down onto the Night King's head, but the monster blocked with his sword. The two of them traded attacks for a moment, their strength and skill seemingly equalled until Jon successfully twisted his awe while they were locked weapons, disarming the Night King. Jon swung Stormbreaker at the Night King's head, but the ice demon dodged and parried the strike with his icy brace before grabbing Jon by the throat.

  
After disarming the Thunder God, the Night King punched Jon in the gut, doubling him over. Jon recovered quickly and punched the Night King in the face, making him stumble backwards. They again traded blows before the Night King grabbed Jon by the throat again and threw him into a fallen tree, kicking up splintered wood and dirt everywhere. Before Jon could recover, the Night King punched him twice in the face at incredible speed, dazing him. The next thing Jon knew, he was hurtling through the air again and slammed into a boulder. The Night King then kicked Jon in the gut and proceeded to pummel him mercilessly.

  
There was a brief break during the onslaught, during which Jon, battered and bleeding, reached out for Stormbreaker. The axe flew towards his outstretched hand, but to his horror, the Night King caught it and tried to impale Jon with it. Jon barely blocked the strike and pushed hard against the razor-sharp blade. Jon grunted against the effort of trying to stop the Night King from impaling him with his own axe, and to his shock and anger, the Night King actually smiled. The first emotion any one had ever seen the Death God's vessel make, and it was joy over seeing Jon about to die. Jon's strength was starting to give out, and the axe's blade was starting to pierce through his armour. He tried to press himself against the rock he was laying on further, but it was only about to delay the inevitable.

  
Suddenly, something smashed into the Night King's arm, knocking him off balance and dropping Stormbreaker. Jon sucked in a deep breath and was surprised to see Mjolnir hover in the air for a brief moment before flying past them again, only to be caught in the clutches of Robb.

  
“No fucking way,” grunted Jon with a grin. His cousin was worthy! However, the Night King kicked him in the gut so hard he broke through the boulder and went to confront the hammer-wielding Stark.

  
Dazed and battered, Jon could do nothing but look on as Robb fought the Night King. To his surprise and pleasure, Robb held his own well, using the element of surprise to knock the Night King completely off his feet when he uppercut him with Mjolnir. The Night King got up, the smile gone from his face and Robb threw his shield. The shield bounced harmlessly off the Night King's breastplate, but in a stunning combo, Robb threw Mjolnir at the shield, and the impact created a shockwave so powerful it made the Night King stagger to his knees.

  
Robb continued to deliver a deadly mix of shield and hammer attacks that continued to throw the Night King off balance, and then used a chain of lightning that travelled through the earth and slammed into the Night King, knocking him onto his back. Robb then summoned a lightning bolt and it struck the Night King so hard his body created a small crater and, to Jon's shock, even cracked his icy armour.

  
However, Robb's element of surprise wore away and the Night King, now looking slightly angry as pale blood seeped from a few cuts on his face attacked mercilessly. Robb was quickly disarmed of Mjolnir, and the hammer crashed a few feet away, leaving Robb with only his shield. Robb was barely able to block the Night King's attacks, which sent him stumbling away and a few pieces of his shield broken off before he was kicked away. The Night King then brought his sword over his head to kill Robb, but Jon quickly staggered over and wrapped his arms around his foe's waist and pulled him away.

  
The Night King grabbed Jon by the cape, lifted him up and slammed him down, knocking the wind from his lungs. Robb grabbed the Night King's leg, but the ice demon shook him over a hundred feet away. Jon tried to stand up, but the Night King uppercut him in the chin, rattling his teeth and sending him flying away, only to land next to Robb.

  
Both of them were tired, their muscles ached and their armour dented and scratched. Robb rolled over onto his stomach and Jon tried to push himself up, but his strength failed and he fell back down.

  
“ _I've been preparing for this war for thousands of years, and prepared myself for every possible outcome_ ,” said the Night King. “ _Yet I was not prepared for your sheer stubbornness and annoying habit of getting in my way.”_

  
Jon grunted from the effort of trying to get up again, and this time managed to get up onto his knees. Behind the Night King, swarms of undead people and animals, ice spiders and white walkers all emerged from the darkness, their eyes glowing with that chilling blue that pierced the darkness. Fires began to sputter and fizzle out as the cold winds blew past, bringing with it a sense of despair. Directly behind the Night King, the three Harbingers of Death appeared.

  
_“I have only lived to serve the God of Death and realise its vision, and it has never been personal,_ ” continued the Night King. “ _But after this, what I'm going to do to the rest of your annoying subjects and the people across the Narrow Sea. I'm going to enjoy killing them, very much.”_

  
Jon helped Robb onto his feet, grunting at the effort despite his strength. “Come on brother, we have to keep fighting,” he said.

  
“What? Are you getting sleepy?” said Robb before he tightened the straps of his broken shield.

  
Jon grinned at the fact that despite facing the end of the world as they knew it, Robb still had time for a joke. He patted Robb on the shoulder before turning to face the Army of the Dead. The Night King looked almost resigned to see his last two opponents willing to fight to the end, and he twirled his ice sword lazily.

  
Determined to fight to the end of the line, Jon took a few steps forward, and mentally called for Stormbreaker. However, it didn't come. Feeling slightly bothered, Jon looked behind him to see what had happened, and his eyes widened at the sight. Arya was holding Stormbreaker, her eyes black as oil as shadows poured off her. The smokey shadows spread out to the sides as far as the eye could see before forming into circles along the ground. To Jon's surprise, people began to step out of the shadows, the first being Tywin Lannister in his War God armour. Behind him came thousands of men dressed in red and gold Lannister armour, led by the Mountain himself, who looked ready to fight in his black armour and holding his enormous greatsword.

  
From another portal, Unsullied and Dothraki horsemen came led by Ser Barristan Selmy and Jorah Mormont. Thousands and thousands of Reachmen, Dornish knights, Riverland men, Stormland warriors and Vale knights came out of the portals all ready to fight for the cause of Life, rallying behind Jon their king. From the rubble, exploded Maelor with his flaming wings extended and his sword and whip ready. Roots pushed aside rock and earth so that a golem could come out, and from the golem out came Uncle Ned and Daenerys. In the sky two dragons breathing golden fire hovered above the Host of the Living, their shrieks almost drowning out the war cries of men.

  
From the God's Eye, an enormous monster with tentacles and pincers and legs burst out of the water, letting out an earth-rattling roar of defiance. Around the monster the water continued to bubble, and horrific creatures with gills, spines and teeth long as knives emerged. On top of the monster's enormous head, Jon could see Theon, his armour and trident glowing in the night air.

  
Gendry, Arya and Arianne appeared next to Jon and Robb, and when Arya handed Stormbreaker back to Jon, the portals closed and the awe lit up with its ethereal fire and lightning. Jon felt his strength and energy return fully the moment his hand touched the axe, and when he looked back at the Army of the Dead, he could tell that while the Night King's face appeared as monotone as ever, he could see the apprehension in his eyes.

  
Robb summoned Mjolnir into his hand at the same time Jon yelled, “Men and Gods of the Living!” he paused for a moment, glaring directly at the Night King and added, “Let's kill the bastards!”

  
He let out a war cry, which was joined by countless more and charged. The Host of the Living followed and at the same time the dead charged too, their shrieks of death joining in the noise. The dragons soared high above them, and Rhaegal rose higher to meet his undead brother while Drogon flew lower, his mouth igniting with unspewed fire.

  
Another war cry from Jon, and then there was an almighty crash as the two forces collided together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The penultimate chapter the War for the Dawn reaches its climax...
> 
> Side note I've started working on two more stories, both of which will probably be as ridiculous as this. The first will be a high school/superheroes AU with Jonsa as the main pairing and the second is an MCU alternate Civil War-onwards story with Steve Rogers and Helen Cho as the main pairing, so keep an eye out for those.


	17. Break of Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter. The next chapter will probably be the epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to check out my latest story 'Velvet Thunder.' It's a Jon Snow/OFC fanfic so not many of you will probably end up reading it, but I appreciate the support all the same!

Jon had just incinerated two undead giants with lightning and decapitated a snow bear when he was knocked over. He grunted as he got up, then scowled at the sight of the Harbinger of War towering over him, broadsword raised. Jon brought Stormbreaker up to block the attack, but it never came because Mjolnir slammed into War's face, knocking him backwards. When the colossal Other tried to get up, Maelor dropped down from the sky onto his head, shattering it into a thousand icy shards. Maelor let out a mighty war cry, spitting fire all over the surrounding wights and killing them before taking off into the air again.

  
Robb appeared and helped Jon up onto his feet, summoning Mjolnir again.

  
“You know that hammer is still mine right?” said Jon.

  
“What? Are you worried I might try to be the new God of Thunder?” retorted Robb with a grin.

  
Jon rolled his eyes before taking off into the air, lightning trailing behind him. He surveyed the battlefield, looking for areas that might need his help. He could see Arianne and Sansa working together to drive off some angry mammoth wights that were trying to harass the Vale knights near where the main keep used to be, Arya was leading the attack on the west flank while Theon was spearing wights and Others with his trident, accompanied by his strange fish monster minions. In the sky, Daenerys rode atop of Drogon as she battled Viserion, a dance of dragons that lit up the entire sky with their fires. Despite being smaller, Viserion was holding his own against his larger brother, and when it seemed as though the undead dragon might even get the upper hand, Jon decided to step in.

  
He flew hard towards the battling dragons, rolling through the air to avoid the fiery plumes and slammed his entire body into Viserion's gut. The dragon let go of Drogon and roared a challenge at Jon, who answered by smacking it in the face with the hammer side of Stormbreaker. The blow snapped Viserion's head to the side and even took part of his jaw off, and Jon laughed happily at the sight. However, the dragon spun in the air and swatted Jon away with its tail, sending him hurtling through the air until he crashed through a tower.

  
Jon pushed debris off his body and looked up to the sky again, Stormbreaker ready. But the undead dragon had disappeared into the darkness again, and Drogon landed next to Jon.

  
“I had the situation under control,” said Daenerys angrily from atop the black dragon.

  
“Really? Is that why Viserion had his jaws clamped around Drogon's neck?” challenged Jon.

  
Daenerys scowled and said, “Stay out of my way,” before she had Drogon take off into the air again in search of Viserion. Jon sighed before jumping down from the broken tower to fight alongside Robb and Gendry, who were dealing with a mass of all kinds of wights.

  
With Stormbreaker, Jon cut down numerous foes while Robb pummelled his opponents with Mjolnir and his broken shield. Gendry was blasting wights into nothing with the beams from his eyes and palms, and at one point when Jon had thrown Stormbreaker at a pair of giants lumbering towards them, he electrocuted a few more with his bare hands and summoned Stormbreaker back. But instead Mjolnir flew into his hand, but Jon thought nothing of it as he used the hammer to smack an Other high into the air. Then he looked over and saw that Robb was holding Stormbreaker with a confused expression on his face.

  
“No, no. Give me that,” said Jon as he traded weapons with Robb. “You can't have all of my weapons. Take the little one.”

  
The Thunder God took off into the air again, looking for new targets. Gendry followed close behind, and from the sky, the two of them rained fire and lightning down upon the Army of the Dead, decimating their ranks and sending a few of their generals running, scattering like ants. Though it seemed as though the battle was even for now, eventually Jon knew that he had to find and kill the Night King before he decided to resurrect everything again.

* * *

Through the haze of smoke, snow and death, Sansa ripped apart her enemies with the full rage of Mother Nature on her side. Animals protected her sides, and from the front, entire trees ripped apart wights like they weren't even there. One of the Harbingers of Death, the one with the bow and arrows charged towards her, bow drawn and pointed towards her. It shot, and Sansa was barely able to raise a root up in time before the icy arrow lodged into it. Sansa retaliated by shooting roots towards the Other, but it nimbly ducked and weaved under them.  
Right before the Other could pounce on Sansa, a golden streak of something slammed into it. Sansa noticed that it was Theon's trident, and all three prongs had impaled the Other in the chest. It let out a raspy gasp of air before Ghost leapt on top of it out of nowhere and tore it to pieces with his huge jaws, killing it. Theon appeared then and collected his trident, then moved to stand with Sansa.

  
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” he jested.

  
“Shut up and help me kill these things,” snapped Sansa with a roll of her eyes. Theon's golden eyes gleamed mischievously before he and Sansa proceeded to battle more wights and Others. Their combined power was able to drive back the pack of monsters to the edge of the lake before the titanic monster Theon had brought crushed them with a single barbed tentacle.

  
“What is that thing?” asked Sansa.

  
“A Karathen,” answered Theon. “She's probably the oldest thing alive except for the Old Gods. She fought in the previous Long Night, and I had to beat her in combat to earn her loyalty.”

  
“You can understand it?” said Sansa incredulously.

  
“I can understand all sea creatures,” said Theon before he backhanded a wight so hard its head came off. The Karathen let out a roar so loud it shook the very earth and caused a slight pause in the battle, before it picked up again. A stream of water shot past Sansa's head and knocked away a pack of wights, and Sansa looked back to see Arianne approaching.

  
“We need to find and kill the Night King,” she Dornish princess declared.

  
“He disappeared once the battle started,” said Theon.

  
Just then, Jon dropped down from the sky, shaking the ground slightly when he landed.

  
“No he didn't, he's up there,” he said before pointing Stormbreaker to a broken tower. Sansa could see the Night King standing on top of the tower, surrounded by his generals. The ice demon was watching the battle below, his face expressionless as ever but even from here, Sansa could see the anger and contempt in his eyes.

  
“How do we get to him?” asked Arianne.

  
“Dany is going to punch a hole through the army so that we can get to him, and whoever has a clean shot needs to take it,” said Jon.

  
Theon looked at Jon as if he were stupid. “You know that's a terrible plan, right?” he said.

  
“I know, but it's the best we have to work with,” said Jon. He looked at Sansa, and she nodded her head, silently declaring her support of her beloved no matter what happened.

  
“Oh very well, let's go,” said Arianne impatiently. Without another word, the four gods charged towards the Night King, cutting down anything undead that got too close. Arya and Robb joined them, as well as dozens of living soldiers. The Night King noticed them and twirled his sword while his generals readied themselves for battle.

  
From the sky, Drogon and Rhaegal flew down and shot super hot plumes of fire down, scattering the Others. In the midst of the confusion, Jon and Robb both threw their weapons, knocking down any white walker that tried to stand up while Theon impaled two Others with his trident. Jon slammed Stormbreaker down into the ground once it returned to him, sending forth a wall of lightning to widen the gap made by the dragons, and Sansa created a wall of thorny vines on either side of the path to stop anything from trying to block them.

  
Finally, the time had come. The Night King was on the defensive, surrounded by his remaining generals. Sansa could almost taste the victory in the air, but she was also smart enough to realise that the Night King was stronger than all of them. It would take a united effort to cut off the head of the snake.

* * *

Jon brutally ripped an Other in half with his bare hands before he summoned Stormbreaker and decapitated another quickly. He looked up and managed to block an ice javelin aimed directly for his heart just in time, but the impact sent him rolling on the ground. He stood up to see the Night King charging straight towards him, sword raised , but at the last second he was knocked sideways when Mjolnir hit him in the side. Immediately after Theon tackled the Night King to the ground, the two tumbling along the ground as they tried to gain the upper hand over each other. Jon quickly raced up to help the Sea God, and got there just in time as the Night King slammed his foot down on Theon's neck.

  
Jon summoned Mjolnir to him and swung Stormbreaker at the Night King, who barely managed to get out of the way, though the blade of the axe scratched his armour. He threw Mjolnir, but the Night King ducked, though Jon began furiously swinging Stormbreaker continuously, forcing the ice demon off of Theon. Arya joined the melee by teleporting in and stabbing the Night King in the heel with one of her daggers, and the blade pierced through the armour and sunk into the pale flesh. The Night King backhanded Arya away and yanked out the dagger before throwing it at Arianne, who conjured a wall of water to stop it from killing her.

  
Vines wrapped snaked around the Night King's legs, pinning him in place. The Night King let out a growl before freezing the vines, then ripped out of them in a shower of jagged ice. The Mountain appeared and roared at the Night King before charging at him, greatsword raised. The Night King parried the Mountain’s attacks with his sword before disarming him, then in a burst of speed, shoulder bashed him backwards. The Mountain stumbled back, and the Night King proceeded to brutally beat the Rage God down with swift, precise strikes that left the Mountain limp on the ground. Gendry fired a massive blast of energy from the sky down on their foe, but he was knocked down an ice javelin that pierced him in the shoulder.

  
Gendry let out a cry of pain and clutched the icy weapon feebly, and Jon raced over to help his friend. However, he felt something grab on to his cape, and he looked over his shoulder to see the Night King trying to pull him towards him. Jon summoned Mjolnir towards him, but at the last second cancelled the spell, which caused the hammer to sail over his shoulder and smack right into the Night King's face, making him stagger backwards. Jon followed up by running forwards and kneeing the Night King in the face, breaking his nose.

  
The Night King clutched his face as white blood poured out of his nose, then looked up at Jon in shock. A vine then wrapped around his neck and pulled him away from Jon before slamming him into a boulder. Jon looked behind to see if Gendry was okay, and once he saw that Arya was taking care of him, he ran over to continue the fight. Sansa was conjuring multiple vines around the Night King's body to hold him in place while Arianne had a ball of water around his head in an attempt to suffocate him.

  
“Hurry Jon, aim for the head!” yelled Sansa. Jon wasted no time and jumped forward, Stormbreaker raised. Lightning swirled around him and the axe and he let out a roar, but at the last second Viserion appeared and grabbed him in his jaws before flying away with him.

  
“Oh come on!” bellowed Jon.

  
Viserion tried to chew on him, but he stopped the razor sharp teeth from killing him by placing Stormbreaker vertically upwards inside the dragon's jaw. Then, he summoned Mjolnir and the hammer flew into his hand, then he dropped it. The worthiness enchantment took effect, and Viserion was soon plummeting out of the sky like a rock sinking into a river. The two of them crashed into the ground, kicking up bodies and dirt everywhere. Jon climbed out of the dragon's mouth to see it struggling against Mjolnir, but couldn’t move at all.

  
“Stay,” he said before flying back to the Night King with Stormbreaker.

  
Once he returned, he saw that the Night King had been freed from Sansa and Arianne's magic, and the Dornish princess lay in a pool of blood. Jon dropped down next to her and checked to see if she was okay. She was still breathing thankfully, but she looked pale and weak. He looked over to see Robb and Sansa fighting valiantly side by side against the Night King, but they were about to be overwhelmed. So Jon flew over and shoulder charged the Night King in the back, sending him stumbling over.

  
“Just die already!” screamed Sansa in fury. The Night King responded by kicking at her, sending her tumbling away and out of the fight. Jon swung Stormbreaker at the Night King, but he ducked, then uppercut him in the chin, knocking him down. Robb was soon quickly overpowered after that, but Jon got up and punched the Night King away. The two traded glancing blows off each other, neither one getting the upper hand until the Night King caught Stormbreaker dangerously close to his face.

  
Jon tried pushing the axe closer, but the Night King held him off firmly. So, Jon summoned Mjolnir back to him with his other hand and, locking the two weapons together, pushed down. The Night King scowled and grunted as lightning poured off both weapons and Jon, and Jon bellowed as he exerted himself. From behind the Night King, Robb jumped onto his back and put him in a headlock while also grabbing the hilt of Mjolnir to help Jon force the Night King onto his knees. The combined strength made the Night King buckle down as the two heroes overpowered him.

  
But at the last second, the Night King head butt Jon and threw him away, then pulled Robb off of him, pinned him to the ground and delivered a punch that knocked Robb out. He then grabbed his sword and stalked towards Jon.

  
_“I've never gotten angry before, but you, Jon Snow have made me very angry,”_ the Night King said, and he raised his sword into the air. Jon reached out for Stormbreaker, but it was too far away and wouldn't get to him in time, so he raised his hands up over his head.

  
However, someone moved in the way of the killing blow. There was a sickening sound of flesh being torn apart, and Jon looked up to see his Uncle Ned standing over him, with the Night King's sword jutting out of his chest. Blood leaked out of Ned's mouth, and Jon was frozen in shock.

  
“NOOOO!!!” roared Jon.

  
The Night King threw his sword away, with Uncle Ned still impaled, and he and the weapon landed several feet away. Jon quickly summoned Stormbreaker and Mjolnir both to him and repeated his earlier move of batting the hammer with the axe, and this time it found its mark and knocked the Night King away. Jon then quickly jumped up and tossed Stormbreaker as hard as he could the a shout, and the axe swung through the air with lightning coming off it, and the blade buried in the Night King’s chest.

  
The Night King looked down at the weapon jutting out of his chest with a look of shock on his face. His icy armour cracked around the edges, like little spider webs that were still growing. Jon landed in front of the ice demon, panting and exhausted, but he forced himself to stand upright as he lay and hand on the blunt side of the axe while gripping the back of the Night King's head with the other.

  
“You said that the last enemy that shall be defeated was Death, and that you'd never been beaten,” growled Jon. “Let's change that.”

  
Jon pushed the axe deeper into the Night King's chest, creating more cracks in the armour. At the same time, all across the ruins of Harrenhal, the undead fell where they stood, the curse lifted from them. The pockets of fighters still alive all collapsed from exhaustion, with relieved expressions.

  
“ _You think you have won? We will return and wipe you all-“_ the Night King began, but as fast as lightning, Jon ripped out Stormbreaker from his chest, whirled it around once and cut off his head with a shout. The body shattered into nothing and melted into a pool of water.

  
Jon breathed heavily before his strength failed him, and he sank to his knees, holding onto his axe like it was a lifeline. He tried his best to stay awake as he surveyed the battlefield. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions of bodies were strewn everywhere, and the survivors all looked as tired as Jon felt.

  
Crying brought Jon out of his reverie, and he looked back to see Sansa cradling her father's body. He grunted as he pushed himself up and staggered over to his lover, then collapsed in front of them both. Robb joined them, clutching his side while Arya had Gendry over her shoulder. In spite of the war being officially over, Jon felt a surge of anger at the indecency of everything. His uncle, the man who had raised him since his parents' deaths had been taken from them mere seconds before victory had been claimed.

  
As the sun rose over the horizon for the first time in weeks, bathing the world in its warmth, all Jon could feel was cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews would be muchly appreciated!


End file.
